Thief!
by Cantique
Summary: Steal the Elf's bow and sell it for a small fortune. That was her plan at first - but what happens when she learns of an even better prize? One to rule them all? Eomer/F!OC/Legolas (because there's like THREE WOMEN in this universe.) Hobbit movieverse references. I am new to this fandom, I don't know what I'm doing. I am scared and thirsty. No idea where this is going tbh.
1. Moves Like a Spider

_For the love of god, please forgive spelling and timeline mistakes. I'm like a baby deer, stumbling around in the LoTR universe trying to figure out how this all works._

* * *

_Steady, steady..._

Her eyes steadied on the elk in the distance, her bow taut, her arrow gripped tightly between her fingers. If she took down this elk, the men in the tavern might stop making jokes at her expense. 'A woman isn't built for hunting anything but a husband,' they'd roar as they laughed at her whenever she brought her furs with her. She couldn't help but notice that they rarely brought their own furs to show, making her wonder if they'd ever hunted anything themselves.

Milandy released her breath, her arrow following, brushing over the top of the shrubberies between them and grazing over the top of the elk. She grunted under her breath, reaching back for another arrow as the elk lifted it's head, now alert. They were so quick to frighten, not like fawns or wild boar, who would scurry to the side in confusion and allow for a second shot.

Quickly and with urgency, she pulled her arrow back, not giving half as much care to where this next arrow went. Before she released it, however, she paused. Something was off. Different. As the elk bolted away, she listened carefully, a low rumble bouncing from between the trees. It wasn't the sound of wind, or at least any wind she'd ever experienced in her 21 years. No, this was different, coursing through the ground, the birds taking flight suddenly.

Slowly, Milandy rose and followed the sounds with caution. The sound became clearer as she wandered closer to the sound of water that had been so clear before, the unmistakenable clanging of metal clashing becoming apparent. A fight? No. A skirmish. The human pursed her lips together as she slowly and with great care ventured even closer. Curiousity often got the better of her, as did her desire for coin - and a good skirmish would always leave at least a few bodies unattended, laden with weapons and valuables she could sell for a good price. She'd not always been a hunter, adapting her talents to whatever could help her sustain herself. Pickpocketing, grifting, spying, even a little work as a highwayman - hunting had always been a fallback, however. It kept her skills sharp and her pockets full, and would keep her out of trouble whenever there was a loose witness.

Once the figures were clear, she crept up to a great log, crouching behind it in hiding to observe. Orcs. Of _course_ it had to be Orcs. She kept her bow tight in her grip, an arrow poised for aim between her fingers - she may have had experience on her side, but that only accounted for so much when Orcs were concerned. Warriors were called to fight Orcs, and a warrior she was not.

Her attention settled on the Orc's adversary, an elf who was firing arrows of his own with a great speed and accuracy. In watching him, Milandy felt a little embarassed. She'd been quite proud of her own archery abilities, but watching the effortlessness he demonstrated made her think he'd probably never struggled with delivering a blow to an elk like _she_ had. It was as though he worked automatically, not needing to think, each bow a reflex that took down an Orc with every release.

A grunt from her side caught her attention, a branch breaking. Milandy looked towards the sound from her right, her breath seizing when she realised the lumbering figure that she had not previously noticed approaching her was not elf, nor human, nor any other species she wished to deal with. The Orc gave a snarl, its hands tightening around the handle of its axe, eyes settled on her in a sneer.

Milandy had been the intended victim of enough muggings and set-ups to react quickly, her bow positioned and her arrow pulling it taut, firing it with a gasp as quickly as she could and hoping that it would hit. However, her quick reflexes did little for her unrefined skills and shaking hand, the arrow flying over the Orc's shoulder before it lunged forward at her. Milandy barely thought as she took her knife from its sheath, diving onto the ground to avoid the swing of the Orc's Axe before swiping at it's leg. Although she made the connection, it seemed to be of little difference to the Orc, serving to only make him mad. Her position below him was a poor one, and she sprung herself up, her blade dragging itself along the Orc's front. _That_ was enough to make him drop his axe, at least, but not enough to slow him down, his fist crushing against the side of her head, it's large wrist driving into her face and throwing her to the ground.

She gave a grunt as she clutched her cheek, looking up from the ground to see the glint of the Orc's axe under the fallen leaves that had gathered on the ground. She quickly crawled towards it, reaching out for the handle and taking it as she heard a roar behind her. She rolled onto her back, axe in front of her, eyes shut, blade upwards as she prepared herself for the worst - but nothing happened.

Instead of a looming death, she opened her eyes to the sight of a collapsing orc, an arrow driven into it's jugular. Not one of hers. No, this arrow was different, not the cheap sort she'd swindled out of some poor apprentice for not even a quarter of its worth. The tail of this looked...

Elvish. She quickly sat herself up, looking around quickly, catching sight of the elf she'd seen before, who's eyes were on her as he held his position. For a very brief moment, he held her gaze before he returned to his opponants, the numbers slowly dwindling as he took them down one by one. Milandy dropped the axe, scrambling back to behind her log, her knife still in hand as she gathered her composure and peeked once more to the events in front of her. They knew she was here. She hadn't gone about this as cleverly as she thought she'd had - then again, she'd never really dared to try and take advantage of Elves or Orcs before. That was something she knew better than to do.

The Elf gave her a glance as he reached back into his quiver. "Go," he ordered her, his voice stern, not raising in volume. For a moment, Milandy almost obeyed. She listened to the Orcs, shouting their gutteral battle cries, and the rumbling of the forest floor beneath her feet, and she knew that they were signs of danger. Warnings.

Instead, as if it was given free will, her hand moved to her blades, taking them from their shieths before she lept over the log and climbed onto the back of an Orc that was attemping to flank him. Wrapping her legs around the hulking figure as it began trying to swing her off, she took a blade in each hand and drove them into it's neck. First the blade in her left hand, then her right, pulling them both hastily with the intent to cause as much damage as possible in the shortest time. The Orc gave a cry, its sharp teeth bared as its voice gargled with its own fluids as they drained into its throat and it collapsed, Milandy pushing herself off him, landing on her feet with only a slight stumble.

Her head turned with the sound of more metal clashing. Not even a stone's throw away, down the hill, more Orcs battled with others – who, exactly, she had trouble distinguishing. Now finished on the hill, the Elf turned his attention to the Orcs below. Not even turning his eyes to her this time, he spoke. "Down there," he ordered now, firing off more arrows. Not needing further explination, Milandy gave a nod before sprinting down hill, blades at the ready and caution to the wind as she threw herself into someone else's battle. What else would she do, she wondered, driving her blade into the spine of an Orc before springing herself off the figure and onto another's back. Run? Let another band of them find her? Let men in the Inns sing songs of her cowardess? A blow to the back of her head threw her forward, Milandy giving a cry as she hit the ground, the leaves crushing under her. It had been something hard. A hammer, perhaps. She clutched the back of her head, growling in pain as she slowly brought her legs up, trying to stand and gather herself despite the stars in her eyes. She was far from a battle maiden, but she knew that every second she stayed still was another second that a blade could be driven into her back.

Reaching out, her vision still floggy and dazzled, she felt along the ground for the hilt of at least one blade. As her vision came to clear and her senses returned, she realized there was a figure standing by her, his blade slashing into the Orcs surrounding her. Realizing she was now standing and aware, the man tossed one of her blades back to her. Where the other had gone was a mystery for now, but at least she was armed. Turning quickly, she drove a blade into an oncoming Orc's jugular, slicing it widely across as she ducked to dodge the swing of another's hammer.

Stumbling forward, a fist hit her in the back, throwing the blade from her hand but not quite causing her to lose balance. She crouched down, launching herself below and through the legs of the Orc that had struck her, grabbing its belt and using it to swing herself up and onto its back. Her footing sure, in a swift movement she pulled herself onto it's shoulders, her legs wrapped around its neck as she readied her bow, firing an arrow from her new vantage point into the back of one of the few remaining Orcs. She continued to ride the shoulders of the enraged beast, firing arrows into their dwindling opponents until she depleted the supply in her quiver. Placing her bow back in its position, she reached down to take the Orc's head in between her arms, giving a quick and deliberate twist. With a loud snap, the Orc's neck dislodged, the beast collapsing without a sound as she leapt off of it.

Gasping for breath, Milandy now stood still, watching as a nearby Dwarf took down the last of their adversaries. She gave a long, relieved sigh, reaching her arm out and wiping her brow with her sleeve. It was over. Good. Now all she had to do was clear the Orcs of any loot they had and take a few of their teeth to as proof for next time she visited a tavern and-

"What is your business?" A voice ordered, causing her to turn on her feet to face it. The man who'd passed her blade to her was slowly moving forward and although his face seemed more inquisitive than anything, his hand was still readied on the hilt of his weapon and his movements were still full of cautious.

"I..." Milandy paused, glancing between him and the Dwarf, who was approaching her with the same caution. "I was just... passing through and..." While Milandy usually regarded herself as a woman born with a silver spoon in her mouth, the blow to her head wasn't entirely helping. Nor was the knowledge that these men had just taken down a small army of Orcs.

"She was hunting elk," a voice interjected. The Elf from before approached from the hill, his bow in his hand, not an indication on him that he'd taken a single injury from the battle.

The Dwarf spoke now, glancing between the Elf and her as the three formed a circle around her, all of them ready to strike if she somehow provoked them. "'Sit normal for 'yer womenfolk ta' hunt?" He asked. The suspicion in the air was thick already, and Milandy could feel herself becoming more and more uneasy, wishing she was armed with at least one of her blades.

"Not unheard of," the human replied, "however, I've never seen a one go into battle like a spy before." Spy? Milandy winced, stepping back from him.

"Sir," she began, a small, nervous laugh in her voice as she raised her palms in innocence. "Will we not even exchange names before you begin throwing around such _grave_ accusations?" She looked around, and all three of the men looked to her as if they expected her to start. "I uh," she straightened herself up, trying to find the same composure she had when she was bragging in a tavern. "I am Milandy Aerlarth," she announced, giving a dramatic bow with a smile on her face. _There_ it was. That silver spoon. Like a true Thespian. "Travelling sellsword, at your service!" She lied – but it was only a little white lie. She _had_ been a sellsword, even if she was usually a thief or a grifter or a highway robber or a... well, Milandy had been many things, few of them good.

"Sellsword!" The Dwarf repeated. "If yer'd been a hunter, I'd want ta' know what yer' been huntin' that needs a lass ta' move like a spider."

"You know," she laughed, smiling at the Dwarf, amping up the charming exterior she'd been polishing for years, "I've been called many things, but spider? That's a first, my friend."

"And why are you here?" The man asked again, not lifting with her mood as the Dwarf had seemed to. "There are no settlements for miles, no towns or cities or villages."

"As I said," Milandy smiled, "I was passing through."

"An area perilous to Orc raiders seems an odd choice to 'pass through.'"

"What sellsword is worth their coin if they can't get through a few Orcs?" She gave a smug smile, gesturing to the Orc who's neck she snapped, and the Dwarf gave a loud singular chuckle. This caused the Elf to glare at him, and soon the Dwarf's face turned back to it's serious expression.

"You move like a spy," the Elf said, taking his turn to interrogate her now, although he seemed less suspicious than his human companion. "Or an assassin."

Milandy tried to not flinch at the accusation. To be called a spy was one thing, but an assassin? No one cared for an assassin except for the man who hired them, and although she was hardly a paragon of virtue, Milandy had never taken a life for coin. "Being a sellsword means you travel far. I've been stationed on the Eastern border before and have received training there and _that, gentle sir,_ is what makes _me_ the best." Another lie. She wasn't so much _stationed_ there as she was smuggling through the border and robbing rich Easterling Sultans blind. Western maidens as fair as she was were rarely suspected of wrongdoing on the border. They were thought far too weak bodied and minded to be anything but beautiful – such was the Easterling opinion of women from the West. That was a handful of summers ago, though, well behind her, and she was not a maiden of 17 summers any longer.

There was a long pause, the Elf and the Dwarf watching the human carefully as he sized her up. Eventually, he let his hand drift off the hilt of his sword, giving a nod as he relaxed his stance, causing her much relief. "You fought well, Sellsword," he admitted, finally giving her a small smile, "an asset indeed. We owe you a gratitude."

"Perhaps I might know the names of my new-found allies?" She asked.

"Gimli, son of Gloin!" the Dwarf announced proudly, almost unable to wait for the others as he gave a bow to the woman. "Ye' stand before Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and the fine lady Legolas of the Woodland Realm." At this, the Elf shot yet a glare at the Dwarf, who's face was glowing with smugness. This seemed to be common occurrence.

Milandy eyed the human carefully, her eyes widening quickly before she dropped to one knee. "I am honoured," she gasped, realising suddenly that she might have been better suited to curtsey to him. She often forgot how to be anything but a woman trying to fit in with men, and her face flushed red at the thought of embarrassing herself in front of a living legend, one which was murmured of in every tavern across her travels.

"Off 'yer knee, Lass," Gimli laughed, stepping towards her. "Where 'yer headed?"

"Wherever there's work," she replied. Another lie. She was headed to Edoras, to clear out what was left of the loot. She'd heard there was good coin in what you could take from the throne room. "Perhaps Edoras," she suggested. "If you could point me towards the best path, I coul-"

"There'll be no work there for you," Aragorn interrupted. "All have fled to Helm's Deep, and seek refuge there."

"Helm's Deep..." she repeated, using this chance to take mental stock of what they carried. Jewellery, arms which were priceless, armour that was from noble places and history untold to her. Why, the Elvish weapons that Legolas carried alone would be worth a hearty fortune on the Eastern border. "Which way is that?" She asked.

"It is where we're headed," he replied, "but there will be war." He turned and gave a not to the others, who gave her a nod and turned their backs to her. "Head back to where you came and warn others to take refuge. Peace will not last for long," he finished, before turning his back as well to continue on. "We go no place that is for a lady."

Milandy was taken aback by this. Low expectations of her abilities and sensitivities was something she expected and even welcomed from hunters and soldiers in a tavern, but from such... noble men? From anyone else, it would have been a challenge, but from Aragorn, son of Arathorn himself? It was an insult. "You must forgive me," she called after them. "I seem to recall slaying the Orcs which thought to kill you."

"And for that, we are very grateful," Aragorn called back, turning and walking backwards so as to face her.

"Then take me with you," Milandy called, beginning to follow. "You owe me a gratitude, do you not?" She sped up to catch up to the trio, and noticed that the Elf had stopped suddenly with her words.

"She is right," Legolas called to them, the group stopping and turning to face the two. "We owe her a gratitude. You said so yourself."

Giving an exhale, Aragorn looked from Legolas to Milandy. "And what would you do there?" He asked her. "In a time of war?"

"As I am commanded," she began, "I am offering my services to your cause. Free of charge." She bowed down, lowering her head.

Her head remained lowered as she felt his eyes on her again, once again looking her over, deciding if she would be a burden or an asset. "I owe you a gratitude," he finally relented, giving a nod, her head lifting to face him. "We are meeting with an army to the North, past this forest. You may travel with us."

"I thank you," Milandy smiled.

"I cannot promise you will receive the orders you expect," he warned, "or that you'll receive them at all, but there will be women and children to defend. Perhaps they can use your services." With that, Aragorn turned once more, continuing forward.

Milandy followed this time, a small smile of relief on her face as she joined them, her eyes fixed on the bow that hung from Legolas' back. "We'll see."


	2. Wanderlust

They took refuge that night in a cave by the fringe of the forest once the sun began to set. They were not meant to meet with the rest of the men until the next noon, and they were already ahead of their schedule. Milandy warmed herself by the fire. Although she never regretted an opportunity to make herself more coin, she also couldn't help but long for her warm bed. Or, well, _a_ warm bed. She didn't have a settled home, although she did have favoured taverns throughout the land. Aragorn and Gimli had both managed to find enough comfort on the rock floor to sleep and Legolas kept watch by the entrance of the cave. Despite the safety, however, Milandy wasn't tired enough to find sleep in such a place.

"Your reluctance to sleep does little to ease what suspicions Aragorn may have of you," Legolas commented from the mouth of the cave, not turning to face her.

"I struggle to rest against the rocks," she replied, standing from the fire, slowly approaching him.

He have a singular chuckle as she edged closer, noticing that he was staring into the sky. She couldn't be sure at what, but joining him in his undistinguished gazing would be better than sitting quietly until morning. "I didn't think a sellsword would be so accustomed to a bed."

"Not necessarily a bed," she lied. She would have traded all her coin for a soft feather bed right now. "I prefer the ground. Forest floors. Meadows. Soil makes for a better night's rest than stone."

"How's your head?" He asked. "I saw the blow you took."

She gave a shrug, reaching back to lightly press against her skull. She was sure she'd felt some blood at one stage, but the pain now felt more like a bruise than a stinging wound. "It was quite a hit," she admitted, "but I've come through worse during my own childhood, I assure you."

"And where did that take place?" He asked, not looking away from the sky, not even to glance at her. "What lands encourage a lady to become a sellsword? To travel East?"

"Dale, actually," she replied, a small smile on her face, holding in laughter. For the first time since she'd sat with him, the elf looked to her, his face puzzled, an eyebrow raised. "Not quite as exotic as many expect," she added. She could hardly blame anyone for failing to guess she was from Dale. She certainly didn't _dress_ like a woman of the kingdom, but she didn't quite act like one, either.

"Dale is a good land," he finally said, looking back up to the stars, "safer than the East."

"But so boring," Milandy interjected, her gaze wandering up to join his. "Locked up in city walls when there's so much to see out there."

He chuckled at this. "Wanderlust."

"You can blame my grandfather for that." Milandy paused and gave a fond smile as she raised her knees to her chest, hugging them to herself. "Him and his stories about dragons, and dwarfs and elves and..." she trailed off, the same smile on her face. "How could I stay in those walls?"

"He was an adventurer?" He asked. His question was meant with a period of silence as she shifted, her gaze breaking from the stars.

"He's gone," she spoke bluntly, shifting a little from side to side. "What of you?" She asked, suddenly changing the subject. "Why leave your own homeland?"

"I was called to," he replied frankly. "And I dedicated myself to the Fellowship. I am needed here more than I am in Mirkwood."

Milandy gave a visible shudder, squeezing her eyes shut. "I have heard of the beasts within that forest. Avoiding them meant my journey was greatly extended..." she gave a brief pause. "...Even if I'd wanted to see the elves with my own eyes."

"I am not the first you've met, surely," he laughed, glancing over to her as she shook her head.

"Of course not! I'd only seen 16 summers when I left the borders of Dale, I met many elves in time." She moved her elbows to sit on her knees, holding her head in the palms of her hand. "But I was a young girl, and I'd been told so many stories. Fairy tales, some of them, but only few really fell short."

"And you headed east?" He asked her? "At 16 years?" He smiled to himself. "You were a mere child."

"This Fellowship," she began, once again changing the subject suddenly, "what exactly is it?" She asked. "I've heard murmurs, whispers about it, but tavern stories are..." she leant her head from side to side as she thought of the right word. "Unreliable at best."

Legolas paused this time, his eyes lowering from the stars to the trees. He spend a moment in thought before he finally spoke. "There is a great evil that shadows over Middle Earth," he warned her, "and a war is upon us." 

"So it is true?" She asked, eager to learn if the rumours were correct, that the Orcs were moving in great numbers for a reason, and that armies from the East were on the move. "The stories I have heard? That we are warring with Sauron?"

She looked to him as he gave a slow nod, his expression more stern than before. "It is true, and why we will ride for Helm's Deep tomorrow."

Giving a nod of her own, she looked down, settling her eyes on her boots. She had until the inevitable battle to take her leave with whatever she could get her hands on. His bow was the focus of her plans, however. An elven bow would fetch her a fortune on it's own, but in a time of uncertain war? She could easily ask double and someone would eagerly pay her the coin. And with that, perhaps she would go back East and ride it out posing as a concubine or Sultana. She was known on the borders, and would happily declare her allegiance to whomever she needed to see herself safe. "I will hopefully be of good service in battle, then," she offered.

The elf gave a small and smug smile to himself as he listened to her. "If you are given leave to serve on the front lines, yes," he agreed. "If you are to keep your distance, however..."

"I can handle a bow." Her comment caused his eyes to slowly drift across and settle on her, an eyebrow raised.

"If your performance today was an indication, I would be inclined to argue otherwise."

Milandy was genuinely insulted now. She may not have been some sort of elvish bowman, but she'd proven her worth with a bow in many a silent raid before. "I was distracted by your gaudy performance," she explained, her mouth a little agape. "I was unsure if you were a warrior or a travelling dancer."

He smirked. "I watched you miss that elk long before you noticed me." He paused before giving and nod and turning his attention back to the trees. "You are impressive in close combat, however, I will grant you that. Gimli was right to compare you to a spider. Your movements remind me of the beasts of the Mirkwood forest. Where did you learn that?"

"As I told you before, I was stationed on the Eastern border for a time, when I was 17 summers." Only a half lie, really. She was 17 summers when she was in the East, but no employer had posted her there. She had gone herself after hearing that it was a thief's paradise. Milandy had not been allowed a warrior's upbringing. She was shown the ways of a woman, courtly life, nothing of what her Grandfather had made her yearn for. As a result, whatever she learned had to be done in secret, and she soon became a very deceitful and sly girl, sneaking from her confines and stealing what weapons she could to let the boys train her after the sun would set. By the time she'd smuggled herself from her homeland, she was an adept thief indeed. She may not have been strong or wary in the ways of strategy, but she was manipulative, clever, agile and fast in ways that only served to her advantage. It wasn't long before she met others like her on the borders. Bands of thieves, criminals, smugglers who helped her to thrive, to polish her strengths into glowing skills. "I trained under Eastern employers. There is much to be learned from the many tribes across the border." That wasn't a lie. That was truth – although she'd hardly learned from those tribes in the way she was suggesting, unless you counted Kircchich, the thief banished from his homeland in the deep East for his crimes. And even then, Kircchich was more of a talker and master of scams than physical shadow.

"It is an impressive talent, indeed," he admitted. "I hope your friends from the East do not use such skills against us in battle one day."

"On that we agree," she laughed. "It is not as though they are my allies." _This_ part was true. While Milandy had certainly made friends on the border, she'd made even more enemies, which was not difficult to do for one whole stole from Sultans and was disposed to boast of her triumphs. She had not chosen to leave, but fled for her life. She may have been a spider, but there were those in her web much bigger and faster than her. "You are a formidable archer. I would be unlucky to find myself in your line of sight." She paused, thinking of his bow, on how to get close to it. "Perhaps, if we find ourselves with opportunity, we should exchange our skills."

Legolas' eyes thinned a little, but as if they were part of a smile. "That would be of great interest," he relented. Legolas had little desire to adopt any of her mannerisms in battle, his own served him well and had for the last few hundred years. He was, however, curious. There was something else in how she fought, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. She didn't _just_ fight like an Easterling, but there was something else there that peppered her movements – and it was enough to cause him suspicion.


	3. You Wear Trousers

No one had warned Milandy that the army they were to meet with rode with civilians, and the sight of it sent a cold chill to her gut. How long had they travelled, she wondered as they made their way through the sea of people to meet with whoever was in command. She glanced from person to person, many carrying the most important of their possessions with whatever rations they had to survive to journey. It was a rare sight, and not one she enjoyed.

They approached the front of the seemingly endless horde of people and Aragorn stopped, turning the face the three. "I will speak with Theoden. See to it that she is given a horse," he ordered, nodding his head to her before turning back and continuing on his way.

"Theoden?" She repeated under her breath as she turned with the elf and the dwarf.

"King Theoden of Rohan," Gimli explained. "Don't tell me a woman well-traveled as yerself 'aint heard of him."

"Of course I have," she lied. She rarely paid attention to Rohan. Little work and little loot from such righteous people. She knew they had a king, but his name escaped her. She had more important things to worry about, like the name of the barman. "I am just... disappointed I won't get to meet him."

"Probably best ta' not worry the King with ye' just yet," Gimli replied, leading her towards one of the unmanned horses being led towards their destination. "Don't worry yerself, Lass, there'll be time fer yer' ta make yer' name."

"I was more concerned about receiving my orders." Milandy watched as Legolas unhooked the horse's reigns from the long rope that led the rest of them along, leading the tall, brown animal to her.

As it came to a stop in front of her, Gimli looked up at the creature and smiled. "In good time, Lass." Stepping forward, Milandly brought her hand to the horse's neck, smiling as she ran her palm across it's fur. Milandy rarely called herself a master of anything, and despite her skills being handy she was far from an expert in anything – but she was incredibly proud of how well she rode. One doesn't spend as much time as Milandy had running from city guards on horseback without learning a thing or two. Or seventy. Milandy was confident that on horseback, she could outrun even the fastest of rangers, and it was that confidence that had seen her win many a race and many a bag of coin.

"Does it have a name?" She asked, not looking away from her new companion. It was a fine horse, indeed, and she wondered if she'd be best to make away that alone.

"She is yours to name," Legolas replied. "These are horses of men fallen. Consider it a gift."

"I will care for her well," Milandy replied, moving to the side of the saddle and setting a foot in the stirrup, before effortlessly swinging herself onto the saddle.

* * *

"You wear trousers."

Milandy jolted to attention in her saddle, the female voice that had suddenly spoken from beside her snapping her out of her daydreams as they rode. She turned to face the voice, the blonde women riding her own horse beside her, well dressed and with poise. Milandy studied her for a minute, trying to decipher her intentions, to tell if she was trying to be insulting of if she was genuinely curious. After deciding she didn't bear ill will, Milandy responded, a the corners of her mouth tugged upwards. "I'm afraid I am not talented enough to ride side-saddle as a lady," she joked.

"Believe me," the woman replied with a smile, "if I were brave enough to dress and ride the same as you, I would."

The woman's curiosity was not hard to detect, and Milandy was curious herself. "We have not met," she said, nodding her head to her with a smile. "Milandy."

"Eowyn," she replied. Milandy was surprised she neglected to include a title, but assumed by her manner of dress she was someone of importance. "Aragorn has spoken of you."

"Has he?" Milandy asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Yes. He tells King Theodan that you did great battle with Orcs," Eowyn was smiling from ear to ear now, brimming with excitement. "Is it true," she asked, her voice lowering a little, "that you're a sellsword? By trade?" She watched as Milandy gave a slow nod, glancing to her from the side, and her smile widened. "A woman sellsword," she recalled. "I have never heard of such a thing before."

Milandy gave a chuckle. "Few have. It works in my favour, really."

"Do you do battle often?" She asked.

"On a battlefield?" Milandy shook her head. "Not as often as a King's soldier, no. I'd say I've participated in... skirmishes."

"And you will be joining the battle at Helm's Deep?" She asked.

"My commander willing," Milandy nodded.

"How exciting." Eowyn looked downwards, smiling in a way that almost seemed to be from embarrassment. "To fight for your people, for your lands and honour. I will admit that I envy you."

"You envy me?" Milandy laughed, an eyebrow raised once more, looking over to Eowyn. "That I might be wounded or die?"

"To die on the field is to die with honour," Eowyn explained. "I would rather death with valour than to die huddled away in fear."

"Perhaps you should join us, then," Milandy suggested. "You seem more eager than most men." She watched as Eowyn shook her head, her eyes focused on the horizon, her expression stern, almost angry.

"It seems I will never be given leave to," Eowyn sighed, her voice bitter with disenchantment. "I am, however," she suddenly began with a snap of sarcasm, "assured that I will be needed amongst the women and children."

"So you _are_ a Lady, then?" Milandy asked.

"Indeed. The King is my Uncle, and neither him nor anyone else think me suited for battle. I have trained for this, for many years, I am prepared and..." she trailed off, shaking her head, her eyes shut. "I apologise," Eowyn exhaled. "Sometimes I allow my imagination to run away."

"It is fine," Milandy replied, sensing her embarrassment. "Sometimes I allow myself the same with men I admire." She watched Eowyn carefully as she processed this, before the two of them burst into laughter. "I am sorry," she laughed. "That was improper!"

"You are a sellsword," Eowyn laughed dismissively, waving her hand. "It is to be expected. Do not worry, my ears will not fall off as some of the _men_ would think."

"Do not think yourself alone, my friend. I'll have you know that even after slaying Orcs before his very eyes, Aragorn _still_ insisted the battlefield was no place for a lady." Milandy gave a sudden snort of laughter. "I mean, the fact that he thought me to be a _lady_ aside..."

Eowyn's laughter softened in nature, her eyes focusing on her own hands as they held the reigns. "Do not mistake Aragorn's nature for ignorance..." she paused, Milandy noticing the sudden softness in her voice. "He is merely protective. It is a hero's nature."

"Perhaps," Milandy tilted her head to the side as she contemplated the wording she was to use. "A true hero must know when to set something free, however." She straightened up, turning her gaze to Eowyn and eyeing her up and down. "Women such as you and I are not birds to be placed in a cage and admired."

"And what would you know of being caged, sellsword?" She asked, a small smirk on her face.

"Perhaps not as much as yourself, my _lady_," Milandy jested, "but I was certainly not _raised_ a sellsword, believe me. If my Mother knew of what life I lead now..." She paused. "...I believe she would storm Helm's Deep herself, which is a force much more frightening than any army of Mordor, believe me."

"Do you think they will allow you on the front lines?" Eowyn asked, her voice suddenly changing in tone, the question an important one. Milandy paused, her eyes focusing on the elf that road in the distance, his bow in her line of sight.

"I hope so," she responded, his gaze unwavering. Unfortunately, this meant Eowyn noticed as well that her eyes were settled on him, and she glanced between them.

"You would follow him into war?" She asked, after a short period of silence.

Her eyes still settled on the object of her plans, Milandy paid little attention. "Who?" She asked, before glancing to Eowyn, who had a gentle smile on her face. The intent of her questioned dawned on Milandy, who glanced once more to the elf and then back to her new Lady friend. "Oh! _Oh _no!" Milandy laughed and shook her head. "No, _that's_ not why I ride for Helm's Deep."

"They say it is all too easy to fall in love with an elf," Eowyn warned, the same smile in her expression, "and that is why it's all the more painful."

"It is not... like that," she exhaled, trying to remain polite.

"Then why do you struggle to keep your eyes away?"

Milandy pursed her lips together and gave an exhale of air. Great. "I would be a fool to deny he is a pleasure to gaze upon," she said. Another half truth. Any red-blooded woman would have to be blind to not see that, but that was hardly restricted to just _one_ elf. They were born beautiful, a gift from beyond. "But it is not as you imagine."

Eowyn gave a nod. "It is undeniably a more practical choice, I imagine," she conceded. "I cannot imagine such a love, torn with differences and early goodbyes."

Tilting her head to the left, Milandy shrugged. "It is not impossible," she remarked, thinking back to her childhood. "Have you ever heard the tale of the Dwarf and the Elf Bow-woman?"

"I cannot say I have," she said, shaking her head.

Shooting her a smile, Milandy began to remember, doing her best to tell the tale as her Grandfather told her. "Long ago, before the walls of Dale were rebuilt, a band of Dwarves and their King travelled the land, longing to reclaim their mountain kingdom that had been stolen by an evil dragon. But, along the way, an army of evil Orcs learned of their quest and sought to destroy them. One day, the band of dwarves and their Halfling friend," she paused, suddenly, "Oh, they had a Halfling friend, by the way. I always forget that part. The band of Dwarves and their Halfling friend travelled through the perilous Mirkwood forest, and did battle with many of the evil beasts that lurked within. One of the Dwarfs, Kili, a nephew of the King, was certain that he would perish in the battle, but at the last moment, an arrow took the life of the beast that threatened him. This arrow was fired by an Elf, who was the most beautiful woman he had thought he'd ever laid his eyes upon..."


	4. Wager

It had been a full day of riding by the time Helm's Deep was visible in the distance, and it was at that moment that Milandy felt a plan stirring in her mind. As she rode next to Legolas and his Dwarf companion (who shared a horse, which never ceased to humour her,) she eyed him with a raised eyebrow. "You know," she began, a smirk across her mouth, "you may be a formidable archer, but how are you on horseback?"

"I would think I am more than capable," he replied, returning her smirk, no doubt seeing where she was leading this. "Why?" he asked. "Are you some form of fabled horse-whisperer?"

"How about a wager?" She proposed, her head held high. "I propose that I can out-ride you to the city gates."

"And what would you wager?" He asked.

"It depends," she mused, "on how confident you really are against the skills of a Lady sellsword."

"Shall we make this a high-stakes game, then?"

"I don't know, would you wager your bow on it?" She teased. She half expected him to refuse as first, for him to ask for her horse in return.

"Only if you would wager your hair."

Milandy blinked, frowning. "What?" She asked, reaching up and feeling the mess of a bun that was gathered at the back of her head. Her hair was nothing but long, uncared for waves of red – it wasn't even clean. If he planned to sell it, he wouldn't fetch a high price for it, if he could fetch one at all. Perhaps this was psychological in nature, to humiliate her in defeat, to cut her hair off so all would know that she lost to him. Well, she thought, it didn't matter. There would be no way he could out-ride her. "Fine," she finally declared. "You will wager your bow and I shall wager my hair. You have a deal."

"Gimli," he ordered, the dwarf shuffling to de-saddle himself, concern on it's face.

"Are ye' sure 'bout this, Lass?" He asked before swinging himself down from the saddle, and landing on the ground with a thud. "It'll take a great while fer' all that ta' grow back, ye' know?"

"It is fine, my friend," she dismissed, wrapping the reigns of her horse around her hands and straightening her back as she brought her horse beside Legolas'. "Ready?" She asked.

"Gimli, if you would?" Legolas ordered, his eyes focused on the target, a smirk on his face.

The Dwarf gave a sigh. "Alright, if ye' say so. One... two..." he paused and she tensed her legs, waiting for his command. "Three!"

With a kick into the side of her horse, Milandy was off, and although she was aware that Legolas was behind her and closer than she would have suspected, she was still comfortably ahead of him. As the wind billowed past her face, she turned her head to grin at the elf, but instead noticed his eyes were not on her, but to their right.

"Scouts!" He shouted, tugging on the reigns of his horse and veering off course. At first, Milandy thought it was a trick, but when she looked in the direction he headed and spotted a group of three Orcs on their Wargs, her mind left the race entirely and she joined him. Heading towards the Orcs, she took her own bow from her back, firing an arrow without thinking into a Warg, the beast collapsing in a roll as it's rider stumbled for its own footing. Watching as Legolas effortlessly took down the remaining two Wargs, she sprung herself from her horse, landing with expertise and charging towards one of the Orcs, swiping into it's arm with her blades. Leaping back and avoiding the Orc's swinging hammer, the hurled one of them forward, the small blade driving itself into her foe's chest.

Leaping over the corpse of the second Orc, she hurled herself towards the third and final, her remaining blade at the ready, but before she could even raise it, her target collapsed, an arrow driven between his eyes. Legolas was a good shot, there was no doubt about that. But now she had to-

Milandy froze. Legolas was on his horse. He'd been on his horse _the entire time _and was now galloping towards the gates. "No," she muttered under her breath, bolting towards her own horse, yanking the blade from the Orc's corpse on the way. Swinging herself up onto her saddle, she tried desperately to catch up, her body lowered down to her horse, her legs firm against the stirrups. But it was no use.

The Elf had beat her, and now she would have to cut off her hair. She _hated_ him.

* * *

She had instinctively avoided any and all gatherings that evening at Helm's Deep. They estimated they had one last day before the eve of battle, and Milandy did _not_ want to spend it hearing about her loss. Gimli had already made it clear that no joke would be left untold, that he would waste no opportunity to call her 'Lad' instead.

Instead of the taverns or halls tonight, she decided to spend the evening tending to her horse, enjoying the time alone in the stables, time for her to sulk in private. Oh, how she couldn't _wait_ to steal Legolas' bow from right under him, to get the upper hand on that arrogant princeling. If it wasn't entirely necessary to get away as quickly as possible, she would have considered staying around just to see his face when he realised that she'd been pulling the strings all along. It wasn't about the coin any more, oh _no._

"Have you named her?" A voice asked, causing her to jolt every so slightly before feeling that stale pang of dislike wash over her. _Him. _She glanced over her shoulder, the sight of his smugness as he strolled in unaccompanied with a smile on his face enough to make her blood boil.

"Jodis," she grunted, offering the horse a carrot, her back to him entirely.

His footsteps approached. "An unusual name. Where is it from?"

"It's Dalish."

"And the meaning?" He asked, coming to a stop beside her, glancing between her and her equine companion.

"It means _horse._" Her voice was blunt as a rock as she turned to him. Her arms crossed. "You're here for your prize?" She asked.

His eyes focused on her, the smile on his face sending her into a silent and secretive rage. "I had hoped to collect it soon, yes."

Milandy reached to her hip, taking her blade from it's sheath with one hand and using her free hand to untie the leather cord which kept her hair bound. The long, somewhat wild and a _little_ matted from the wind in some spots tresses fell down from the bun that once contained them, spilling down past her shoulders and to the small of her back. "Fine," she mumbled, taking it all in one hand, gathered near the base of her skull as she raised her blade to it.

"Wait," he suddenly ordered, extending a palm out to her and gesturing for her to stop. "I do not wish for you to cut your hair." Milandy studied him as he said this, his tone sounding somewhat defeated. "I would not ask that of you."

"If this is an act of pity," she warned, lowering her blade, "then you are even more frustrating than I thought."

"It is not." He spoke calmly, assuringly as he carefully watched her re-sheath her weapon.

"So you would forgo your prize as an act of pleasantries?" She asked. "What's the real reason? Did someone talk you out of it, or was my shame enough for you?"

He gave a smirk, making her long to fire an arrow into his brow. "I said I do not wish for you to cut your hair," he began, shaking his head. "Not that I do not want my prize." He paused, his smirk softening into a smile – one of the most genuine she'd seen from him. "I would instead ask for a strand of it."

Milandy raised an eyebrow. "A strand?" She repeated. "You just want a _strand_ of it?"

"As a trophy of my defeat," he explained, "so that next time I feel you becoming arrogant, I have a token to remember this victory by."

Thinning her eyes, Milandy raised her hand to her head, running her fingers into her hair, and with her eyes still fixated on the elf, she plucked a single strand of her hair from her scalp. "Here," she declared, holding the strand out to him, "will _this_ suffice?"

She watched as the elf took the strangle from her laying it over his palm and giving a nod as his hand closed around it. "It will do just fine. You are a woman of honour."

"Of _course_ I am," her voice sarcastic, Milandy returned her attention to Jodis.

"I should hope to fight beside you," he added, Milandy still facing her horse, but listening carefully. "You put matters of battle before your own personal gain when we encountered those scouts," he explained. "Honour before pride. I would be glad to have you fight beside me."

Her hand settled on the snout of her house, Milandy thought about this momentarily, surprisingly touched by how genuinely he spoke. As if almost out of nowhere, she felt a twinge of guilt that she intended to steal his bow from him, that she would disappoint him in such a manner.

"And I would be honoured to do so," Milandy relented.


	5. Hope

"Surely this is some sort of joke!" Milandy insisted as she followed Aragorn through the crowds of men preparing for battle. "You'd have me sit in wait with women and children _in a cave?_"

"The caves are where the women and children shall be safe, and as far as I'm aware, my Lady, you're a _woman._"

"Will you stop calling me that?!" She snapped, pushing past a random footman to keep up. "And of what use will I possibly be there? I am needed on the field."

"They will need you just as much," he assured her. "Do not think it is not an important task. They will feel safer to have you there."

"Then swap me for someone," she pleaded, the desperation in her voice starting to come out. "Allow someone else to take my place so I can serve on the front lines. You have seen me in battle. You know that I-"

"I need you there for Lady Eowyn," he interrupted as he stopped suddenly and finally turned to look her in the eye. "Consider yourself to be her guardswoman."

"Guardswoman?" Milandy asked. "My Lord, she doesn't _need_ a guardswoman!"

Aragorn shook his head, giving a long exhale. "It is not a matter of her ability."

Giving a pause of outrage, Milandy gave herself a moment to reflect on this information. "I implore you, let me speak to the King, let him give me my order-"

"It _was_ his orders," he once again interrupted, his voice slightly raised. "And before you ask, he was made _well_ aware of your expertise. You have very strong supporters."

"Then why am I assigned to be Lady Eowyn's guardswoman?" She asked.

"Because," his tone became calmer, more frank with her as he held her gaze, "it is a task that few can be trusted with.

As this revelation settled on Milandy, she eased herself a little, relaxing her stance and glancing her eyes away from him. It was almost as thought she was embarrassed for arguing. Despite being almost entirely convinced that this was just an excuse to have her wait the battle out, she couldn't help but feel persuaded to believe him. Maybe he spoke truth. Perhaps she had been truly trusted. "Yes, My Lord," she finally relented, her voice much quieter than it had been. Aragorn gave a nod to her before turning and continuing on his way, leaving her to stand in the armory, to mull over her thoughts as the men around her fitted themselves for battle.

"Yer lookin' a lot less bald than I was expectin', lass," a gruff voice from below her line of sight commented, a bow being thrust into her hands. Gimli gave her a smile, handing her a full quiver. "Talked him out of it, eh?"

"He, uh," she blinked, returning to reality as she strapped the quiver to her belt, the bow hanging from her arm, "he granted me mercy and we arranged a substitute."

"An' what was that, lass?" He asked, an eyebrow raised. "'Cause if he got yer' helpin' him up his count..."

She laughed and shook her head, positioning the bow on her back. "No, he took a strand instead." As she dismissively shrugged, she caught Gimli's eyes widening.

"Oh!" He remarked, pausing a little and repeating himself with an "_oh"_ before giving her a wide, almost knowing smile. "Now I get it, lass!" He snorted, reaching out and up to slap her on the back with encouragement.

"Get _what?"_ She asked, moving slowly to take some blades from the armoury bench, watching him _very_ carefully. Gimli's eyes lit up at this, a hint of mischief to them.

"I'm sure yer'll find out in good time!" He explained, studying her from top to bottom as she shiethed her blades. "Yeh know," he began, his speech drawn out as though he were still deciding on if he should speak or not. "He was quite insistent that yeh join us on the battlefield, get them knives of yers into some Orcs." He watched her reaction carefully as he continued. "The King said yer had no business doing naught but sittin' pretty with the other women, but Legolas spoke very highly of yeh, Lass." He paused. "We all did," he quickly added, "but him, 'specially. Spoke praises of yeh' honour – and 'n elf's word on _that_ is rare t' come by, if yeh catch my meanin'."

"Was he?" She asked. "And does he know that I'm to act as Lady Eowyn's guardswoman?"

Gimli paused, shuffling a little as he adjusted his belt. "'Was the compromise they came ta', lass. King didn't even want ye' havin' a sword. But that elf..." he gave a grunt, "is persistent."

She examined her blades in silence. These were new. She hadn't been able to retrieve her own from the skirmish when she'd run into the three travellers, much to her own disappointment, but she'd managed to find replacements and eventually talked Aragorn into having her a new set of her own consigned. Still, however, the set of daggers weren't the same as the ones that she'd had since she was still in Dale. They would do the job, but they didn't fit into her hands with the same sense of belonging. "I suppose I should go and thank him, then," she finally blurted. Milandy's eyes widened. It was almost like she'd been thinking aloud. What was _that?_

"'Suppose ye' should, lass," Gimli replied. The dwarf gave her the same knowing smile from before, one that filled her with a sense of dread for some reason, and gave her a nod, before heading off on his own way.

* * *

After much asking around, Milandy finally found the elf, looking over the soon-to-be battlefield in one of the ancient lookouts. Although the stone monument provided a view, it was only used during battle, the newly built lookouts having taken up useage. In his usual way, his eyes were fastened to the land before him, his gaze sharp – but he knew she was there. "Have you collected your new blades?" He asked her, not missing a beat.

She took an extra moment to respond, startled by how quickly he picked up on her presence. "Yes."

"And how do you find them?" He asked. "I assume they are not of Eastern standard."

Shaking her head, Milandy slowly approached. "For that I'm glad, as my own set were forged in Dale..." she paused a moment, her eyes glancing so her feet as she found the courage to speak. "I wanted to thank you for..." she froze when she realised he was turning to face her, a small, knowing smile on his face. Everyone seemed to be one step ahead of her. "Well," she tried again, "Gimli told me that you argued my case and..." Her tongue caught up with her brain and she realised she had no idea what she was going to follow it up with. Where was cool Milandy? Where was the smooth, suave Milandy? This was getting awkward. She was_ making_ this awkward. Saying thank you was _hard._

"I merely stated fact," he interjected, maybe sensing how she was struggling to articulate herself. "You are an admirable force, and you have much honour." His smile brightened a little as she read his face, before his eyes suddenly changed, and the smile disappeared. "I am sorry that I could not sway King Theoden to permit you on the battlefield," he began, his voice changing. It became softer, more quiet. "I imagine you wished to join us."

It was Milandy's turn to smile, now, glancing downwards once more. "It is an honourable position to guard Lady Eowyn," she replied, doing the best she could to sound genuine.

He watched her for a moment, studying her face and her expression. Milandy wondered if maybe he saw through her. "Your blades were forged in Dale?" He asked suddenly, his expression back to the calm one he'd bore before.

"Yes," Milandy replied, trying her best to not sigh the word with relief.

"You had them for some time, then?"

Milandy gave nod. "I'd had them with me since I'd left Dale, yes. They were a gift to me."

"A gift?" Legolas smiled, crossing his arms. "Unusual for someone to give daggars to a woman as a gift."

"My Grandfather cared little for being 'proper,' if that's what you're getting at," she remarked, a fondness in her voice. She approached the ledge that he'd been watching over coming to rest against it next to him, taking her own turn to gaze at the horizon. "It was never his way."

"The same Grandfather who told you the stories that tempted you to the East?" He asked, watching her carefully. "You were fond of him," Legolas observed.

She shot him a glance from the corner of her eye, giving a nod and pushing from the ledge. "I was. We were very close. He was the most organic thing inside those masoned castle walls."

"Castle walls?" His voice made her eyes widen a little.

"Er," Milandy looked downwards, biting her lip inwards. "The battle," she stuttered, speaking fast, desperate to change the subject once more, "do you think we will be victorious? The men seem grim."

"Many will die," he said, speaking frankly. "But there is hope."


	6. Honour

Damp. The entire cave was damp. Not a rock to sit on that wasn't covered in a fine slime or moss.

The women and children within the cave had no problem finding somewhere to sit and wait, of course, they had bigger things on their minds. Not Milandy, however. Her priorities were with finding a chance to escape and steal that bow _and_ finding somewhere clean to sit. She was having luck with neither.

This was the second time they'd been moved deeper into the caves by those who stood guard by the entrance. Perhaps the men had been right to be so grim. Perhaps they would die here. Perhaps _she_ would die here.

_'Nonsense!'_ She thought to herself, finally accepting defeat and sitting on a mossy rock, Eowyn still in her line of sight. Milandy wouldn't die here. Even if the enemy _did_ somehow manage to break that far through their defences and get into the caves, Milandy would survive. Somehow. She always did, and it wasn't as though she hadn't been in more difficult situations than this.

She watched Eowyn as she took her attention from a crying mother and returned it to Milandy, a very weak smile on her face. For what Eowyn lacked in any other area, she made up for in courage, that much was sure. Milandy could tell that she thought the situation grim, yet she kept calm, a smile of courage on her face for those around them. "How do you fair?" she asked her, lifting her skirts to step over a puddle.

"Honestly?" Milandy leant in once she was close, her voice low and arms crossed. "Bored. I can hear the boys outside having all the fun."

"It's hardly fair, is it not?" Eowyn replied, sitting beside her, a little laughter in her voice. In such dark times, you had to find humour where you could. Milandy recognised the laugh that came with that. Eowyn watched over her flock for a while, making sure no one was listening in, and leaned to her side, whispering to Milandy without facing her. "If you were to ask, I would order you out of this cave to assist the men. All you need is to ask."

Milandy's eyebrows pushed together in a confused frown as she carefully studied the women, who had a content smile on her face. "My Lady, surely you jest... why?"

"Because I cannot do the same." Eowyn's words were soft, calm, and for a moment, Milandy was completely content with the idea. It would be easy. She would leave the cave with the excuse of Eowyn's orders, find Legolas and steal his bow. She imagined it shouldn't be too difficult in the midst of battle, and that was if he was even still alive. She paused her thoughts for a moment at how uneasy the thought of that made her. That was new. She didn't like that. One way or another, though, she'd get the bow and whatever else he was carrying, flee to the nearest trading post, sell it all for good coin and hide somewhere until this was all over. Maybe she'd seek refuge near the Shire. She didn't mind Hobbits. Anything that spent its spare time smoking and eating was alright by her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash from outside. Or maybe it was an explosion – Milandy couldn't really tell. Whatever it was, it was enough to cause the women and children of the cave to scream and huddle once more, Eowyn visibly readying herself as Milandy's hand instinctively made it's way to its blade in preparation.

As the noise outside began to intensify, the children began screaming, their mothers doing their best to calm them. Eowyn looked up to Milandy, who had instinctively stood. "Go," she instructed, her voice still a whisper, and for a moment, Milandy almost did flee the screaming children of that cave.

But, as she looked back over the women and children, watching them try and block their ears from the sound, convinced the end was near, she remembered that word. Honour. There would be _no_ honour in abandoning these people and Eowyn, and that stupid elf had made her care. She felt a twinge of anger at this – no one had ever commended her honour before, in fact, she'd never been told she'd had any and that's why it never seemed to hold her back. And now that he had? She couldn't stop thinking about it.

Giving an exhale and relaxing her shoulders, Milandy turned her back to the path leading out of the cave, that would have taken her to battle, and instead brought her attention to the children. "Have you children ever heard," she began, her voice loud and taking their attention as she addressed them, "the tale of the Dwarf and the Elf Bowwoman?" She looked amongst them, watching the wide eyes gaze at her with question as the screaming dissipated. Giving a smile, she sat on the stone ground, her legs crossed, Eowyn behind her.

"A long time ago," Milandy regaled, "when the Kingdom of Dale was naught but a small river town, a band of dwarves and their Hobbit friend embarked on a journey to reclaim their long lost Kingdom, which had been stolen by a dragon..."


	7. The One Ring

Milandy was avoiding the celebrations.

Not because she wasn't overjoyed that the battle had been won, of course. She was obviously glad they'd survived, herself _and_ her three adventurers. No, that wasn't it at all.

Milandy wanted some peace and quiet. She enjoyed drunken singing and celebration as next at the next – she'd practically _lived_ in taverns on her journeys. But she gazed out onto the horizon and examined the handles of her blades and just _thought._ A lot had happened, and although they were safe now, that probably wouldn't last. This time was free, and it was for her, for thought.

"A storyteller," a familiar voice announced, approaching her and causing her to jump a little and turn to face her new companion. Legolas smiled, the slight air of arrogance about him that she'd felt on their first few meetings seemingly reinstated. "You did not tell me you carried such talents."

She turned back around, smiling to herself, happy to see a friendly face – and fully intact, for the matter. "You never asked."

"Lady Eowyn has spoken very highly of how you handled the children," he explained, joining her beside where she sat in the grass on the hill that overlooked the expanse of the land before them.

"It's no special talent," she dismissed. "Anyone can tell a good story."

Legolas shook his head. "But you must first have a story to tell."

"Well," she gave a sigh and leaned back, her palms on the soil beneath her, arms steady. "You are an elf, are you not? I'd imagine one has a great many story to tell after so many hundreds of years."

"Thousands," he corrected. "And the best stories are not always tales of old," he mused.

She raised an eyebrow, glancing to him. "And you know a new tale?" She asked.

The elf nodded, focusing his gaze to the distance, as appeared to be habit for him. "But I'd prefer to hear your tale about the Dwarfs."

Milandy rolled her eyes, letting her head hang back. Her mother would have had a fit at the sight of this - her daughter sitting beside an Elvish princeling in a most unladylike manner, sitting in the dirt and wearing _trousers._ "I am so tired of telling it, however," she sighed, "perhaps if you were to tell me this _new_ tale, I may find myself renewed enough to tell you mine."

Legolas was silent for a moment, and a point came where Milandy was convinced that he'd refuse her offer. However, after consideration on his part, he spoke again. "Very well." She shot a glance to him, a little shocked that he'd accepted such a bargain. "It began with the forging of the great rings..."

And as the others continued their loud singing and drinking and celebrations, Legolas remained on the nearby hill with Milandy, telling her the tale of the Ring. The story of how they were forged, and how Sauron forged one ring to rule them all in secret. How a great war was fought and marched on Mordor, and that Isildur had taken the ring, but could not bring himself to destroy it. And one day, the One Ring was lost, and it remained so for thousands of years until a very, very unlucky Hobbit came to find it.

"And where is it now, then?" Milandy asked, disbelief wrought in her voice. "What happened to it?"

"It was entrusted by the Wizard Gandalf to a Hobbit named Frodo, who carried brought it before the Council of Elrond. It was there that Frodo offered to take the Ring, and destroy it in the fires of Mordor, and that a member of each of the Free Peoples joined him on his quest." His voice began to take a smug tone, his expression to match as he continued. "Frodo, Samwise, Merry, Pippin, Aragorn," he paused for a second, making sure to watch Milandy's expression from the corner of his eye. "Gandalf, Boromir of Gondor, Gimli of the Dwarves and," he paused, a smirk across his face when he was sure Milandy had put it all together, "Legolas of the Woodland Realm."

"So it's real?!" She blurted, sounding almost frantic. "That... that ring is _real?_ And that's why you're out here?" Legolas didn't reply, but merely nodded as Milandy took all this in. She was sure that he thought her impressed by his tale, but in truth, Milandy was more taken by the One Ring. She couldn't stop thinking about how much such a thing would be worth. Oh, and she'd certainly be in outstanding favour with whoever was the highest bidder. In that moment, Milandy was suddenly a grateful as she could be that she hadn't had a chance to take Legolas' bow yet! What a distraction! She could have entirely missed out on this opportunity.

"Your turn," he instructed, breaking her from her thoughts. "Tell me about the Dwarves. I've heard tales similar, but they might not be the same."

Giving a long blink and returning to reality, Milandy did her best to keep her mind off the excitement that came with such a big score. "Many years ago," she began, as she always did, "when the Kingdom of Dale was nothing but a Lake Town, a band of Dwarves and their Hobbit friend set off on an adventure to reclaim their Kingdom, which had been stolen by an evil dragon.

"One day on their adventures, while travelling through the forests of Mirkwood," Legolas gave a slight chuckle at this, "they were attacked by the horrible beasts that lurked within the forest! One of the Dwarves, a young Dwarf named Kili, was sure he'd meet his end, but an arrow slew the beast that sought to eat him. This arrow belonged to a beautiful Elven Bow-Woman, who was the most beautiful being that the Dwarf had ever seen." She paused to gauge his reaction, but instead of the content smile that usually accompanied this detail, Legolas bore a concerned look. A frown. "Is something wrong?" She asked.

"No," Legolas spoke quietly, shifting. "I have never heard this tale before. Do you know of other elves in your tales?" He asked.

"Well, yes. My grandfather said there was the Elvish king, he imprisoned the dwarves," she explained, "and the young Elf Bowman who followed the Bow-woman into the Lake Town the Dale once was."

"Bowman?" he asked.

"Yes. He helped save the Dwarves _and_ the people of the Lake Town from the Orcs that followed them."

"Including Bard the Bowman," he added. "King of Dale. And his... two, no, _three_ children?"

Milandy blinked, giving the elf a confused look. "How did you know?"

He smiled, laughing a little to himself. "I am the Elf Bowman you speak of," he said, speaking simply. Milandy froze, her nails digging into the grass. No. He _couldn't_ be. No. Wait. He _could_ be. He looked like the Elf her grandfather had told her of, and he knew that he'd saved Bard the Bowman and his children. Milandy didn't even _tell_ people that part of the story, she just skimmed those details.

Her eyes widened. It _was_ him. And he _knew_ it. "Does this... does this mean this story is true?" She watched as he nodded, and it took all she could to hold in the excitement that was flooding back from her childhood. "So Kili... and the Bow-woman?" She watched as he nodded again, throwing her own hand to her mouth.

"Tauriel," he suddenly corrected. "Her name was Tauriel."

"Tauriel?" She repeated. "I can't believe this!"

"Who was your grandfather?" Legolas suddenly asked, his question stopping her in her tracks, killing the joy she was feeling. "He knew great detail, perhaps I met him, too."

Milandy averted her gaze, brushing a lock her her hair behind her ear and scrambling to get up. "No one. He's no one and you probably didn't-" Milandy became silent when she felt a hand on her arm, stopping her from standing, pulling her back to the ground.

"Aragorn is already suspicious of you," he explained. "You must tell me before someone with lesser intentions twists the truth."

For the first time since she'd joined their quest, Milandy didn't know how to react. Her chest tightened, she felt her hands going cold and her stomach twist. She'd been busted. Caught red handed. Legolas wasn't just another dumb mark, she knew that. "He will have me sent away," she finally whispered. "I do not want to leave. I want to come with you."

"And I will argue your case. You know that," he re-assured her. "I've already done it, have I not?"

The silence between the two for the next for moments was steely and icy cold, the only other sounds to keep them company being that of the wind and the celebrations from inside.

"Bard the Bowman. My mother is the youngest daughter of Bard the First, the first King of Dale."


	8. A Lady of Dale

"Why would you keep such a thing secret?" King Theoden asked at the head of the long, oak table in the centre of the hall. There was no one there spare for her regular companions, a wizard who she could safely assume was the Gandalf that Legolas had spoken of, and another figure she did know though – although she recognised him. He had indeed already been hailed a hero, but for what, she wasn't sure. "You must understand, My Lady," he began to explain. His tone was gentle with her, but Milandy couldn't help but grind her teeth slightly whenever someone called her that, "it _does_ merit cause for suspicion."

"I _hid_ nothing, Your Grace," she retorted, her arms crossed, not at_ all_ appreciating how the unknown man at the table stared at her, as though she were an Orc herself. "It never came up."

"We asked you who you are, where you hail from," Aragorn interjected, joining in with the King, although not nearly as gentle in his speech about the matter.

Milandy shook her head. "But you never asked me if I was a Lady of nobility or not, did you?" She winced after saying this. Lady of nobility? Urgh. Not if it meant wearing a dress. "Your Grace, I must insist, this is unnecessary. I have already proven that-"

"Proven what?" The unknown man asked. "That you're deceptive?"

"Eomer," King Theoden warned, raising a hand for him to stop.

"She is clearly a spy!" Eomer insisted, gesturing to her and raising his voice. "Sauron took victory in the Kingdom of dale _three __days_ ago. Are we to assume the seed of his influence has not been there even longer?"

Milandy froze, her gaze snapped to Eomer, her eye wide. "What?" she asked. "Sauron?"

"She is no spy," Legolas suddenly spoke. "Lady Milandy merely did not wish to be sent away or sidelined."

"And why should we not?" King Theoden was sincere in this question. "She is a Lady of Dale. I don't imagine that King Bra-" he paused to correct himself, and Milandy's heart began to race. "King Bard would take well to news that we allowed his..." Milandy could hear herself breathing as he eyed her. Why did he say Bard? Bard wasn't the King. Her cousin Brand was. This was a mistake. This had to be a mistake. "...first cousin once removed to risk her life in battle."

"I must disagree," Legolas replied, his speech curt, yet polite. "Having known King Brand the First, I would hazard a guess that her kinsmen would find great honour in her achievements." He gave her a fond smile, but Milandy barely noticed, her mind racing with panic. "The Dalish people are a people who find glory in a good tale, and what better than this?"

Aragorn shook his head. "That may be true, but we have no way of knowing. They are-"

"Can someone _please _tell me what you speak of in Dale?!" Milandy finally blurted, her eyes wide as her palms slammed onto the table. Silence settled over the group, everyone seeming to look to each other to speak, no one willing to volunteer.

Finally, Aragorn shuffled in his seat, giving a long exhale. "There was a siege," he explained, his tone finally taking on the gentle notes the King had used with her not long ago. Milandy wasn't sure if this was because he was delivering bad news or because they knew who she was. She didn't want to know, either way. "Forces were pushed back from the city and into the Lonely Mountain. It is not over, and they hold strong, but..."

"King Brand?" She asked, her voice crackling in her throat.

The silence that set over the group was like cold steel, now, more painful with every moment, each second more and more telling. Yet Milandy still denied it to herself. She still had to _hear_ it. "He fought valiantly," Aragorn finally said, his voice more soft than she had ever heard it before.

Everyone was watching her. She could feel it, and it only served to make it harder for her to not completely relinquish any control she had and break down at that table. Silently, she rose from her seat, her expression unchanging, looking solely to Aragorn, trying to block out the other figures. "I... excuse me..." Without waiting for leave to be given, she turned on her heels, making her way to the nearest doorway. Where it took her, she didn't care, as long as it was out of sight. If she cried in front of them, she'd be just another 'emotional woman' forever.

Following the steps, her eyes fogging, she found herself in a cellar, bottles and barrels lining the walls and arranged into aisles. Not knowing what else to do with herself, she took her own refuge behind a rack of wine, sitting on the floor and weeping into her sleeve once she was sure she was alone.

Dale had been pushed back? Did that mean the city was ransacked? Had her family survived? Her mother? Her sisters and brother? Had _anyone_ survived except for Bard? She had been close with Bane, like another sibling. He was the one who'd sneak her into the training yards, and slip her sets of archery bracers when no one was looking. He was the one who didn't tell anyone when he caught her leaving for the East, even though he was the King by then. She sat there for who knows how long. Maybe an hour, maybe more.

A footstep caused her to gasp audibly, unable to hold a sob in from the surprise. "Wh-who is it?" She stammered, wiping her face frantically with her sleeves.

"It's me," the voice was gentle and familiar. Legolas. Of course _he'd_ follow her down here. "I just wanted to make sure you hadn't ridden off to seek vengeance."

Milandy couldn't help but smile at this as she listened to his well placed footsteps slowly approach. He took soft steps, but not soft enough for her to not notice. Perhaps his intent had not been to sneak up on her. "Are you making fun of me?" she asked.

"I'm merely stating my knowledge of your temperament," he teased as she slowly gathered herself and rose from where she sat. Once Milandy had stood up, she paused. He was already standing at the corner of the aisle she'd been hiding in, watching her. Maybe she hadn't heard all of his footsteps.

"Will they be sending me to take refuge?" She asked, trying to ignore the fact that her face had turned hot at the mere thought of him seeing her like this, with a puffy, red face, her eyes swollen and bloodshot with tears.

He shook his head, taking an extra step towards her to they were face to face. "No, The King seems content to leave you as Lady Eowyn's guardswoman."

"I suppose it's better than being sent home," she paused. "If there's a home left."

"I am sure not all hope is lost," Legolas began reassurance from every tone and note as he spoke. "Your people are ones who have fought off Dragons."

"I just wish I was there." Milandy bit her lip, her stomach twisting. Why was she saying this to him? It just kept coming out, as if it was automatic. "If I'd just been there, maybe I could have helped, maybe he would have lived-"

"You mustn't think like that," the elf cut in. Milandy, however, couldn't help it.

"I owe Bane so much," she continued. "He gave me my freedom, and this is how I repay him? By not even-"

Legolas grabbed her arm, this time succeeding in silencing her. "You are here because you are meant to be," he assured her. "Our fates are tied together. You are here by no coincidence." For the next few moments, not a word was spoken, but his hand remained as Milandy gazed downwards, collecting her thoughts and processing his words until he eventually spoke once more. "The darkness does not suit you."

"What?" She asked, looking up to realise his gaze was fixed on her, their eyes meeting. It was almost like steel, chilling her to the bone. Was this the last thing his targets saw before they perished at his hand? It was not all that bad. Perhaps she would be so lucky as to have such a thing in death.

"When you are in the sunlight, you have so much life," he observed. "It radiates from you. Even in the moonlight it's there, although in the day you radiate a warrior's aura."

"And what do I radiate at night?" She asked. Milandy watched him carefully, searching his expression, but he said nothing, instead releasing her arm.

"They are asking for you in the halls," he said, the subject changed. "The men wish to hear your tales, and Gandalf has asked to properly meet you."

Shaking her hand, Milandy took another deep breath, finding her centre. "Yes, I could use an ale. Or five." With that, she stepped towards the light that lead out of the cellar.

"I'm glad you are staying," Legolas suddenly said. "You are... interesting."

She thought about this for a moment, a hot flush running over her. What was that feeling? Like her face was warm? Was she... blushing? No. She couldn't be. Milandy didn't _blush._ That was for virginal maidens and Ladies of court. "As are you," she quietly replied, pausing, waiting for a way to get on with the night without being awkward. "Come on," she said, tilting her head to the exit of the cellar. "I wish to have an ale before Gimli drinks it all again." With that, she began to make her way up the steps, Legolas not more than two steps behind her.

"We should hurry, then," he laughed. "He knows you are on your way, but he seems to think Ladies don't drink ale."

"Me?" She snorted. "A lady? That's adorable! He's in for a rude shock."


	9. Differences

The men had a special talent for making you forget about the pains of war, that was for certain.

Milandy held her ale in her hands, watching as the two Hobbits she had yet to meet danced about on the table, singing and stomping about. The night before, the men had drank for their victory, but tonight, it was for the fallen. That was something Milandy could drink for, especially.

"They have a way of lifting the spirit, don't they?" A voice asked her, breaking her concentration. An older voice, one she'd heard yet felt still unfamiliar with. Turning in her seat, she realised Gandalf had taken a seat beside her, smiling from beneath his white beard, pipe in hand.

Milandy felt uneasy at first, but quickly relaxed in her seat. There was something about him, an aura. While the wizard exuded standing, she felt at ease around him, as though even his gaze was a kind one. Maybe if she were an enemy, she would be afraid instead. "That they do," Milandy agreed.

"I knew your Grandfather," Gandalf mused, taking a puff on his pipe. "The family resemblance is strong. You have his eyes." He paused, seemingly waiting to see Milandy smile, before he added "and his knack for breaking the rules."

Her smile disappeared, and she carefully examined his expression. Gandalf, however, didn't change his amused look as he watched the Hobbits. Not even a little bit. He was unreadable. "I'm sorry?" She asked, her tone carefully controlled.

"We all run into temptations," he warned her, tapping on the end of his pipe, "some greater than others. But at the end of the day, my dear, we must take stock of what has the most value."

"I don't follow," she nervously laughed, her heart beginning to race. Oh no. Could he read minds? She'd never heard of that kind of magic before, what that even possible? Or was she that obvious? Maybe he was just calling her bluff.

"Legolas," he began, pausing to take a quick puff of his pipe, the smoke escaping his mouth in perfect 'o' shapes, "seems quite taken with you," the corner of his mouth perked into a smile. "He has given his word that you're a person of quality, and an elf's word," he said, finally looking to her as he gestured to her with his pipe, "is more valuable than any coin." He gave her a knowing smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling, before returning his gaze to the Hobbits. "Your Grandfather was a good man. The less noble things he did, however, were for survival." He shot her a quick side glance. "Not for his own benefit."

Unsure how to respond, Milandy nodded and sat in her place, frowning, trying to figure out if he knew what she was planning, or if he was just guessing. Either way, the thought made her incredibly uncomfortable. As she sat in silence, trying to think of a way to escape, she caught a glance of Legolas and was surprised to see an ale in his hand. She spotted Gimli sitting across from him, slamming down his own ales, drunken and burping and shouting things about hairy women.

It was odd seeing him drink ale, even if he seemed to be getting little enjoyment from it. She watched him carefully, unable to stop herself from smiling at how out of place he seemed around the drunken Rohirrim. Even after how knows how many ales Gimli had made him drink, he still seemed the same. Poised, standing tall, unmoving. She couldn't help but feel a little guilty watching him. It wasn't polite to stare, and she definitely should _not_ have been thinking about how beautiful one of her companions was. Beautiful? Her face was going hot again. She thought he was beautiful? He _was_ an elf. She'd never really gotten to know one like this before, but she'd heard many a song about men falling for elvish maidens before. This was probably normal. They were, after all, a blessing, intended to embody all that was beautiful and glorious. And she was hardly _falling_ for him. She was just... admiring the scenery.

What she found stranger was that he was 'taken' with her, according to Gandalf. She'd seen it herself that he'd been ready to argue for her, anyway, and she was no stranger to the value of an elf's word, but to be _taken_ with her? That was new. She thought of what he'd said to her in the cellar – was he trying to say she was attractive? She wasn't sure. Not that Milandy thought herself hideous, she was far from it, even _she_ knew that – she'd played on it more than once. But even by human standards, she was hardly a polished and virginal maiden that she always assumed elves were drawn to. She was always covered in some kind of dirt and dust, she hadn't properly let her hair down or had it arranged since she was in the castle of Dale and she dressed like a man for the most part. Some men might find that appealing in an exotic way, but she'd never thought an elf would be interested by that.

She assumed, however, that any interest that Legolas might have in her aesthetically was purely from objective difference and curiosity. They were different races, different creatures, different beings with different cultures and ideals. Considering the fact that Milandy was far from a 'traditional' human women, it hardly surprised her that he held her as a curiosity.

She sipped her drink and tried to focus her attention elsewhere. It wouldn't matter, in the end, because once she stole that ring, he'd become an enemy. They all would.


	10. The Language of Dale

_Wow! Thanks for all the lovely comments and follows and nice things. It's good to know I'm not awful, haha!  
__So a few notes on this: I know like, nothing about Elvish so I'm just assuming everyone speaks Sindarin and rolling with it. Also, there's like no resources on the language of Dale (that I can find, anyway) so I just kind of mashed up some Icelandic and Danish. Close enough. Gold star. Woohoo._

* * *

"Do you speak the language of Dale?"

Milandy gave a jolt in the stables, not expecting anyone to have joined her. It was early in the morning, and she'd assumed all would be nursing themselves after the night's drinking. Typical that Legolas would be up early when no one else was, however.

She turned her head to glance at him from her horse, before returning to brushing Jodis' coat. "I'm not as fluent as I should be, but yes."

"It is a good language," he mused, approaching her slowly, his steps casual. "You should keep it with you."

"I've never really had use," she shrugged. "Dalish is rarely spoken these days outside of Dale, and it's hardly a charming language?"

Legolas chuckled, crossing his arms and watching her. "And what is a _charming_ language?" He asked. She gave another shrug, reaching up to stroke the mane of her horse.

"You know, the Rohirric or the Elvish tongues. Words that sound as beautiful as the meaning that they carry, even to a non-speaker."

"That is not entirely true," he slowly spoke, leaning against one of the stable railings.

Milandy turned to face him, giving a smile, her eyebrow raised. "Say the ugliest thing you can to me in your language, go on."

He eyed her for a moment, a frown on his face, hesitant to insult her – that was obvious, After she gave him an encouraging smirk, however, he shifted, giving a nod and defeated exhale. "Ce uchand, orvelethril."

"See?" She said. "That sounded beautiful." She gave a pause, her mouth ajar. "...What did you say?"

"I said you were stupid," he mused, tossing his head from side to side, a casualness to his face, "and that you are a lover of orcs." He waited in anticipation for her reaction, visibly relaxing when she gave a laugh. "Your turn," he said, nodding to her. "Say something kind in Dalish. We will see if it sounds as terrible as you say."

"Ég haber at barnabörnin mín hafi sögur sem ég mun segja beim af van u barnabörn beirra." She spoke quickly and with ease, taking him off guard a little. He wondered if she'd been telling the truth about her fluency. "Well?" She asked.

"It..." he went silent, thinking hard on how to convey what he'd heard. "It sounds like a drum."

"A drum?" She laughed.

"Yes." He gave a nod. "There's a rhythm to it, a round sound. Like a drum." He gave a smile. "What did you say?"

He gave a soft smile, sighing and shaking her head. "_I hope the tales that I tell of you travel from my grandchildren to their grandchildren,"_ she repeated in the common, sounding slightly defeated. "It's an old Dalish saying. Hardly as poetic as Elvish, but I have to make do with what I have."

"Make do?" He asked. "What do you mean?"

"Well," she laughed, "I hardly had someone to teach me the Elvish tongue."

"You assume you have the aptitude," he teased. Milandy scowled at him, crossing her arms and shifting her weight from one leg to another.

"I'll have you know I have a grand aptitude for languages!" Milandy argued. "I even learned some of the Variag tongue when I was on the border." She puffed her chest out a little at this, proud of herself. Milandy neglected to mention, however, that she knew just enough Variag to state she wanted no conflict, buy meat and milk and say thank you. The majority of her dealings with the Variag had been with their trading caravans – but she wasn't about to let that on.

"Then you should have no trouble learning the Elvish tongue." Legolas gave a smirk and Milandy pursed her lips together, watching him carefully.

"And I suppose you'd be any better at learning Dalish?" She asked, eyebrow raised. "It is not a language for dainty elvish tongues." She paused. She'd wanted that to sound tough, but it sounded like something else.

Not noticing her awkward phrasing – or, rather, choosing to ignore it, – he gave her a smile, a genuine one. "How about we find out?" He asked. "I will teach you the Elvish tongue, and you will teach me Dalish. We'll see who learns the quickest."

"Fine!" She snapped, feeling quite competitive all of a sudden. She hated when he acted so... so... arrogant! She wondered if all elves were like this, or just him. "Dalish is no easy language."

"Neither is mine."

Milandy moved to leave the stables, but stopped herself, suddenly, as if a wall had appeared before her. "Yesterday," she began, speaking slowly, carefully choosing her words, "you said something about me. I mean, in nightfall, I mean," she began to stutter. Maybe she _wasn't_ going to choose her words carefully. "Well, you _were_ going to say something, but then you didn't, and I was wondering-"

"Law lîn síla sui Ithil," he said, a soft smile on his face that broke into another of his smirks not soon after when Milandy realised _that_ was his response.

"What does that mean?" She asked, sounding panicked.

"If you pay attention and do well, you will be able to translate it for yourself!"


	11. Betrothal

"Aragorn is quite handsome, is he not?"

Milandy raised an eyebrow, looking up from the book she was reading, slightly surprised by how suddenly Eowyn had confessed. They'd spent the day watching the men spar with each other, albeit from the far away safety of the nearby gardens, Eowyn sewing and her guardswoman reading a book on the Sindarin tongue. "You think so?" She asked, glancing out to the fields, their figures running about, sparring and laughing in the distance.

"I asked _your_ opinion." Eowyn gave her a soft smile. Milandy, however, merely shrugged, not even looking up from her book this time.

"I suppose. I've never really thought about it."

Eowyn rested her sewing on her lap, watching Milandy, studying her as she read. After a minute or so, she picked her work back up, returning her attention to her thread work. "I am hardly surprised," she began, eyebrow raised, smile at the corner of her mouth as her eyes flickered up to glance at Milandy every now and then. "He may be noble and brave, but he is not your Legolas."

_This_ got Milandy's attention, as she gave a double-glance from her book up to Eowyn, confused at first before her eyes widened, her mouth agape. "Oh _no,_" she warned, snapping her book closed as Eowyn let out a small laugh. "No, no, no!" Milandy insisted, pointing her finger at the blonde. "I do _not._"

"Oh come now," Eowyn giggled, leaning in a little, her voice lowered despite the lack of company. "You may confide in me! Do you not even think him handsome?"

Milandy paused, thinking over this. "Well, he's _handsome,_ don't get me wrong..."

"I knew it!" The blonde laughed.

"Hold on!" Milandy crossed her arms in her seat. "I think he's handsome, yes, but just _look_ at him. How could you not? One can admire a fine tapestry without wishing to own it. He is of no more interest to me than that of a friend."

"Is that why you learn the elvish tongue, then?" She asked, an eyebrow raised. "To be a better _friend?_" Milandy was surprised at Eowyn – she didn't think was capable of sarcasm.

She rolled her eyes. "No, he challenged me," Milandy explained. "We will learn eachother's languages and whoever masters it the quickest _wins._"

"And what will you win?" Eowyn asked.

Milandy re-opened her book, letting out an exhale. "Nothing," she replied. "It's the principle of it."

"So you're learning the elvish tongue, and he's learning Dalish?" She asked. "That sounds less like a challenge and more like a romantic expression." Milandy gave an exhale, choosing to leave it and not respond. When Eowyn realised that Milandy wasn't going to continue, she looked back out to the training field. "Humans and elves fall in love, it is not impossible."

Slowly but surely, Milandy raised her eyebrow once more, peeking up from her book, almost as thought she'd Eowyn may not notice her doing so. "_Really?_" She asked.

"Indeed. There are tales. Legends." Content with herself, Eowyn began to sew again, speaking nonchalantly. "I do not know them well, though. Perhaps you should ask another."

"Like who?"

Eowyn smirked. "I suppose Legolas would be knowledgeable." At this, Eowyn burst into giggles, watching as her friend turned a bright red.

Closing her book, Milandy opened her mouth to argue when she noticed Eomer approaching, giving her a nod in the distance. She rose from her seat,, her book under her arm as she glanced between the two, Eomer still out of earshot. "I have heard Aragorn speak the elvish tongue," she remarked. "Perhaps I shall ask the 'handsome' lord if he knows of any legends."

With that, she shot a proud smirk at Eowyn before giving a nod to Eomer as he passed, strolling off towards the armoury.

* * *

Milandy stood in wait, planning to catch Aragorn away from Legolas. And Eowyn. _Especially_ Eowyn. She didn't need Eowyn blurting out the details of her fascination with their elf friend. Not that she had one. Or, well, she _did,_ but it was a _normal_ fascination. Cultural. Not at all romantic. Even if she _did_ think him handsome – but what woman wouldn't?

Instead, though, she found herself eventually greeted by Theoden, who she had expected to continue past. She was surprised, however, when he game to a stop by her. "Lady Milandy," he greeted, a smile on his face. "Have you not somewhere to be?"

Giving a curtsey, or at least the closest to a curtsey that she could in her trousers, Milandy smiled at the King. "I was hoping to speak to Aragorn, Your Grace. Perhaps you would know where I may find him?"

"Aragorn?" He asked. "I imagine he's in the hall. Eomer bested him a few times while they sparred, and he wishes to celebrate." Theoden eyed her for a second, before offering her his arm. "Walk with me, Lady Milandy. We have things to discuss."

Milandy stared at his arm for a moment, as though she didn't know what to do with it. It wasn't that she didn't know what he was asking, it's that she didn't understand why. Still, though, he was the King, and she didn't have much choice if she didn't want to be shunned, so she looped her arm around his, and the two began to slowly stroll through the grounds.

"You are an interesting woman," he remarked, a small smile on his face. "I am to understand you have travelled East?"

"Yes, Your Grace. I was stationed on the Eastern border for a time."

"Remarkable," Theoden's small smile turned into a grin, it was almost as though he was proud of her, despite how little he knew her. "A noble lady who has seen more than most Lords."

"I assure you, Your Grace," she chuckled. "My heritage has little to do with my accomplishments."

He nodded. "Indeed, it does not... there had been rumours, you know," he conceded, speaking carefully, "about the Dalish Lady, one of the Granddaughters of Bard the First, that she had run away..." Theoden paused, giving a shrug. "Most believed you dead, however. Do your family know you are still amongst the living?"

"I'm assuming not, unless you have told them," she admitted, frowning. "I would prefer not, however. If I am to go back home, they will not stand for..." she looked down to her trousers, using her free arm to gesture to them. "This."

"I assume this is why you left?"

"Indeed." She looked up into the distance, smiling. "My mother told me she was negotiating my betrothal and I packed my bags that night."

"And is that why you do not return?"

Milandy gave a solemn nod. "I should imagine they would try to marry me off, yes." She gave a frown. It would especially be so now that Bane was not there to stand up for her. She didn't even know who remained - Milandy didn't even know where she was in line for the throne anymore.

"It is something we must arrange for our children out of love," Theoden began. "We merely wish for our young maidens to be cared for, to be protected. _You_ may be an exception to the rest of us," he chuckled, "but your kinsmen may not feel the same. I imagine, though, as much as I may regret it, that word has begun to travel to Dale."

"Word of what?" she asked, suddenly looking to him, her expression laced with worry.

"That you are alive and well, and that you ride with Rohan."

"Has anyone been ordered to do so?" She asked, her voice becoming a little louder. Theoden shook his head, giving an exhale.

"No," he replied. "No such orders have been given, but we have not ordered anyone to keep the news a secret, either. Some men will see it their duty to inform your King. Others will see it as an opportunity for reward, and the rest... well, I imagine they'll think nothing of telling the tale in a tavern."

She pursed her lips together. No. No, she couldn't go back. "You would not send me back?" She asked. "If they asked for me?"

"I would not wish to," he began, The King's tone reassuring her, "Eowyn cares for you a great deal. You are the first guardsmen she has yet to run from or threaten. She admires you and I would not wish to separate you. But I would be," he paused to give a long sigh, "_obligated_ to, especially at the request of your King."

"No," she whispered, before adjusting her voice to speak up. "I can't go back there. Please. At least not until this war is finished." She couldn't just leave them here like that. She couldn't just abandon Legolas – not without beating him. And she certainly couldn't just give up on stealing that ring. With the coin she'd get from that, she'd be able to hide from the Kingdom of Dale forever and keep her freedom, even if she had to flee to the East again. "Surely there is a way?"

The King was silent for a moment as they approached some steps towards the castle. The two had began walking even slower now, enthralled in the conversation. "There are... diplomatic circumstances under which I may justify refusal," he began to speak carefully now. "The fact you are a woman makes it greatly difficult, however. Dalish law is not like ours, as I am sure you're aware. I cannot claim a woman to be essential to our cause."

"Tell me what I need to do and I will do it."

Theoden stopped at the top of the steps, looking over a small wall and into the distance, taking in the view of the mountains before looking at her. "You will not like it," he warned.

"I also would not like going back to Dale. What is it?" She asked.

"Betrothal with eventual marriage."

Milandy stood there and stared at Theoden in stunned silence, before she found herself struggling to contain her frustration. Why was the solution for women _always_ marriage? Men were welcome to swing a sword at it, but women? No. Marriage. Always _marriage._ "And who would you suggest I marry?" She finally spoke, her voice so gentle so as to not scream that it was more than apparent she was struggling to contain her anger.

"I imagine we should be able to find you a suitable match," he began, letting go of her arm and resting her arms on the wall now to gaze over it as he thought. "He would have to be someone politically notable, lest your King protest."

"What about Aragorn?" She asked, a laugh in her voice to mask the anger, hoping perhaps that if she suggested enough unsuitable men, he may just choose to fake her death.

"He would indeed be a good match," Theoden agreed, Milandy's heart stopping. "No one in their right mind would protest their house joining with the Rightful King of Gondor, let alone he who will soon be King of the Reunited Kingdom." No, no, no, no. No. She was just joking. _Joking._ "However, you would have to contend with my dear Niece for his hand." Theoden gave himself a small laugh as Milandy felt a wave of relief wash over her.

"I would not wish that, no," she nervously laughed.

"I would not wish that on _anyone," _he agreed. "Perhaps Legolas," he mused. Milandy drew breath to protest, but found herself hesitating. She supposed if she had to marry _anyone_, she wouldn't mind it being Legolas. He was arrogant and he infuriated her, but at least the two of them had some form of understanding. "No," Theoden mumbled to himself, snapping Milandy out of the fantasy that had been brewing in the back of her mind about a potential forest wedding. "No, elvish bonding is far too complicated," he shook his head. "And King Thranduil would never allow it..."

"Well," Milandy laughed. "That's all the eligible princes _I_ can think of! Perhaps we could falsify-"

"Eomer has been asking about you," he interrupted. Milandy froze. Oh _no._ "He seems quite taken with you."

"Eomer?" She asked. "Oh, I do not think my King would-"

"When I am gone from this world," he once again cut in, Milandy feeling as though he could sense her panic, "Eomer will become King of Rohan. It would make you Queen."

"I mean no disrespect, but I do not _wish_ to be Queen, Your Grace. It does not matter to me."

Theoden shook his head. "But it will matter to your Kinsmen. They will not be able to refuse the betrothal, and you will be able to remain here."

Milandy scanned his face, trying to decipher him. At first, she thought this may be a threat, that he was trying to bribe her, but she couldn't find it in his expression. His face was genuine, a look of sorrow in his eyes – he would not just be entering her into a marriage she didn't want, but she imagined Eomer would be less than thrilled with the arrangement, even if he _had_ been asking about her. Theoden knew this, and that's what made her think he was sincere. Eomer was, after all, the closest thing he had to a son.

"And when would we be married?" She asked, her voice quiet as she hoped it wouldn't crack.

"As soon as word would return from your King accepting the arrangement."

"It is a time of war," she began, hope in her voice. "It may be quite some time, I imagine."

"Yes." Theoden's voice sounded warn itself all of a sudden. This weighed heavy on him, too. "They may also be expedient. They may think we will send aid with such an alliance."

The two of them continued gazing out over the mountains in silence, Milandy trying her best not to cry from anger. If she had not been so stupid as to tell tales to whoever would listen, no one would know who she was. They would think she was a sellsword and she would probably have been half way to the border by now with the elf's bow, or even The Ring. She wouldn't be cornered into marrying someone she barely knew just so she would not have to return home.

"Your Grace," she asked, her voice finally giving a crack. She stopped herself for a moment, collecting herself. "Why do you do this? You show me such kindness... I know it will pain you to force this on Eomer."

"You could say, perhaps," he exhaled, turning to face her, "that I have a tendency to collect the children of nobles." He gave her a soft smile and patted the top of her arm in a gesture of comfort, holding it and giving a gentle squeeze. "Eomer will not clip your wings, do not fear that you will lose your freedom. And Eowyn," he gave a chuckle to himself, "she will be thrilled to have you as a sister, I should imagine. Come," he extended his arm to her once more. "I imagine we should inform the groom."

Milandy took his arm, chewing on the inside of her list as her stomach did somersaults. At least Eowyn would be happy about this. She would probably be the only one.

* * *

_I'm going somewhere with this. I promise._


	12. The First of Many Battles

Eowyn was, indeed, _thrilled._ It was bitter sweet, of course, Eowyn wasn't daft and knew as well as her Father that neither Milandy nor Eomer really wanted to be part of such a betrothal, but she took joy where she could find it. "I cannot believe I will see you in a dress!" She gasped, brushing Milandy's hair for what was probably the first time in years for her. "I had thought the moon itself would fall from the sky before I witnessed you in a _dress._"

"Yes," Milandy sighed, her arms crossed as she sat in front of the fire in a robe. "I suppose it's quite fun for you, isn't it?"

Pausing, Eowyn set down the hair brush on a nearby table, resting her hands on Milandy's shoulders. "I know this is hard for you. It is indeed a great sacrifice. But tonight is an evening just for you," she began, giving a gentle squeeze of her shoulders. "It will be what you choose it to be."

"Miserable?" Milandy suggested. "Because that's how I feel about this and I doubt Eomer feels any different." King Theoden had been right about the Dalish King. He had indeed sent word, asking that she be returned to the Lonely Mountain camp at the request of her Lady Mother. That had been the final nail in the coffin, and for Eomer and Milandy, it was the binding contract.

"There are things you can be glad for, if not only for tonight," she began, taking the brush back up and continuing with Milandy's hair, which was much longer than Milandy had imagined it. "Tonight _they_ celebrate your betrothal, but you may celebrate many different things. You do not have to leave. You do not have to return to Dale. Some day you will be a Queen," she paused, a smile taking over her face, "and we will be sisters."

Unable to keep herself from chuckling at Eowyn's inability to hide her excitement, Milandy looked down to her lap. "And what does Eomer have to celebrate, then?"

"That he is marrying a woman who will never nag him about the state of his household as she will would not know how to." The two of them broke into laughter, Milandy glad to find it in whatever she could at the moment.

"You know," Milandy sighed, smoothing her hands over the robe. "I haven't had my hair braided or worn a dress since I left Dale."

"It's alright," Eowyn assured her as she began to section the now brushed and smooth locks, beginning to braid them, "after the wedding you need never wear one again."

"It's, um, funny, actually," fidgeting with her hands now, Milandy tried to withhold a smile, but failed miserably. "I'm a little excited."

Eowyn raised an eyebrow, gathering more of her hair into the braid. "Perhaps there _is_ a Lady beneath the surface."

"I wouldn't go that far," Milandy warned. "But it may be nice."

"Myself and the other ladies have sewn you the most beautiful dress that we could in such times," Eowyn began as she tied thread around the end of the braid to secure it, "perhaps my brother shall even come around to you."

"It was kind of him to agree to this." She reached up and felt the braid as Eowyn stepped away. "I imagine he had hoped to choose his own wife."

"He had," coming to stand in front of her, Eowyn offered Milandy a folded up gown of green, "but my brother is noble, despite his temperament. He is valiant in _all_ matters of honour, including," she said, handing the dress to Milandy, a smirk on her face, "saving _beautiful_ maidens from war torn lands."

"Stop!" Milandy snorted, rising from her chair and watching as Eowyn made her way to the chamber door. "Must you pester me?"

"You are not Queen _yet,_" she teased, poking her head around the door-frame as she exited. "And until then, you cannot tell me what to do!" With that, Eowyn's head dis speared and the door shut, leaving Milandy to try on the gown.

As Milandy sipped out of her robe and looked over the way to get in to the dress, she worried she wouldn't know _how_ to put it on. There were some laces at the back, but she wasn't sure if they were meant to come undone. Eventually, she gathered the hem around her arms as she would a shirt and slid it over her head, rummaging around inside until her head emerged from the neckline, her arms finding their way to the sleeves.

Milandy felt the air escape her lungs completely as she gazed at the dress in the mirror. She had seen ladies dress in such finery before, and although she'd never been jealous of them, she often wondered how she'd look dressed finely now she was a woman. Milandy wasn't sure if she was beautiful, she could still see her own flaws, but she struggled to recall a time where her hair had been so clean and soft, or that she had worn anything so delicate and beautiful.

"I should imagine Eomer may have a change of heart when he sees you like this," a voice softly said. "It would be no easy feat for any man to not fall in love with you tonight."

Smoothing her hand over the fabric that sat across her torso, Milandy smiled at Eowyn through the reflection of the mirror. "I do not wish for him to fall in love with me... but..." she trailed off for a moment as Eowyn approached her, tightening the laces at the back and further pulling the gown into shape. "I had never known I could look so..."

"Beautiful?" Eowyn asked when Milandy could not finish her sentence.

"Yes."

"Had you never tried?" Eowyn asked. "I suspect it would not have been difficult."

"I never had anyone to really look beautiful _for._" She gave a shrug.

"You know," Eowyn mused as she reached to the table of finery for Milandy and took a circlet of green and white, "I have been told that those who find themselves in arranged marriages do not always love each other at first." Eowyn gently places the circlet on Milandy's head, not needing to affix it at all. The perfect fit was almost as though it were made for. "But after a time, they grow to."

"Perhaps," Milandy sighed. "But that is not something to worry about for now. We have a war to win."

"Indeed." Reaching down and squeezing Milandy's hand, Eowyn smiled at her, Milandy taken back by how genuine it was, as though it were the truest thing she had ever seen. "Come, sister," Eowyn said, not letting go. "Let us go into the first of many battles together."

* * *

"For the record, I _don't_ want to marry you."

Milandy didn't look at Eomer when she said this. She didn't even glance at him, afraid that someone would notice and listen to the exchange. Part of it, though, was that she didn't even want to _look_ at him.

"At least we have found something mutual," he replied, also looking ahead and affixing his eyes on the dancing people in front of them. They were all full of joy, thrilled that the heir to the Rohirrim throne was to be wed. Eomer and Milandy, however, couldn't have been more uncomfortable.

"But," Milandy admitted, giving a sigh, "I am grateful that you are doing this. I knew when The King suggested it that you would be unhappy." She paused, giving him the first bit of eye contact she had all evening. "It is incredibly noble of you."

Eomer shifted in his seat. "Eowyn would have never forgiven me if I'd refused." He reached for his cup, taking a long drink from it, finishing the conversation there. Milandy leaned on the armrest of her seat, looking up and down the long table where they sat, the King in the middle, herself and Eomer to his side. She wondered if this would be her life after the war. Maybe Eomer would give her freedom to roam. No. That wouldn't be proper. Although, did he care about proper? He didn't seem like the type, although he wasn't exactly allowing Eowyn to ride into battle, either.

"My Lady," a voice began from behind her, soft and familiar. "May I be so bold as to borrow your arm for a dance?"

Turning in her seat, Milandy's eyes settled on Legolas, who had leaned down to speak to her, meaning he was only a few inches from her face at first before he pulled away. She glanced to Eomer, who couldn't have been more disinterested if he possibly tried to be, before shaking her head. "I don't know how to dance."

"I don't believe you," Legolas smirked. "I find it hard to believe a Lady of Dale went 16 years without learning to dance."

"Yes, but they are different, not like the dances of the Rohan," she protested. "Ours are more like walking in a circle to music."

He paused, flicking his eyes to the dance floor and then back to her. "And these dances are different?"

Milandy shook her head, slowly rising from her seat. She hated dancing. Or rather, she hated dancing in front of people she'd have to look at the next morning. However, it was this or sitting next to Eomer in a perpetual awkward silence. At least Legolas might look her in the eye. "Fine," she said, defeated as Legolas offered her his arm. She hesitated, eventually taking it, just glad to get away from the table.

The dance wasn't actually that difficult, yet Milandy still found ways to stumble over herself at first, trying to not turn a bright shade of red. It was embarrassing enough as it was, let alone in the company of an elf prince. "I would not have picked Eomer for you, I will admit," he commented quietly, keeping his comments out of the ears of others. "I was surprised."

"Neither would I," she replied as they linked arms and began to step in a circle. "It is purely out of convenience, I assure you."

Legolas gave her a small smile, the corner of his mouth turning upwards. "I had suspected as much. You do not seem like one who would marry so quickly." He paused. "If not at _all._"

She chose to ignore his comment. "It was this or go back to Dale, and this is the lesser of two evils."

He gave a nod as they continued to dance, the rhythm of the song being slow enough for them to properly converse. "If it's any consolation, you look beautiful." Her stomach twisted at this. Of course he'd say that. Of course - because it wasn't as though the night could get any more uncomfortable for her. Although, in all honestly, Milandy couldn't be sure _why_ it felt uncomfortable.

"Have you been practicing your Dalish?" She asked, changing the subject.

"Jad," he replied, the Dalish word for yes. "And your Sindarin?"

"Peditham hi sui vellyn?" She asked, inviting him to speak with her as a friend. His eyebrows raised, impressed with her, perhaps even a little surprised before letting out a long and full sentence in Sindarin. Milandy winced. Perhaps she hadn't learned as much as she'd thought, and the elf soon chuckled at her silence.

"We will practice soon," he assured her. "I am sure that your husband will allow us."

"Don't say that," she said, shaking her head as the dance came to an end. "Just… don't." The two bowed to each other, before an applause broke out for the small band and Legolas gave her a smile.

"You may never love him, and he may never love you," he began, reaching out and casually brushing some of her hair back from her shoulder, leaving it to cascade over her back. Had anyone else done this, it probably would have been seen as an intimate gesture, but he was an elf. This gentility was in their nature, she supposed. "But Eomer will treat you well."

And it was then that she heard it. That they _all_ heard it.

The Beacons of Gondor had been lit.


	13. Needing a Friend

_Just a short one this time! I promise, the next one will be much more robust! Keep the feedback coming. I'm loving it and I love you and I also love otters but that's unrelated.  
_

* * *

Milandy had no idea how long she'd been hiding behind those rocks, but it had been more than several hours. The men had been preparing to ride for Gondor when she'd been told – they were to head in to battle soon, and King Bard the second could demand her return in such a time if she were not already married. In the event that Eomer would die before they wed, she would have to go back, but if he was her husband and she became a widow, she would have no obligation. Milandy and Eomer would marry when they made camp that evening – not in good time, as she was told.

Milandy had excused herself, asking for some space before heading for the far off rocks she could see in the distance and allowing herself a rare moment of honesty with herself once she was sure she was out of sight. She sat down, wrapping her arms around her her head and allowing all the pent up emotion to make its way to freedom. All of the anger. The frustration. All of it. Why didn't she have what she came for? Why didn't she have that ring and why wasn't she in the East yet? She couldn't even bring herself to steal Legolas' bow anymore, and that was the part that made her the angriest. Why couldn't she do it? She'd even had a chance to the night before, all she would have had to do was sneak into his chambers and steal it, maybe even take him down if he caught her, which wouldn't have been so hard without his bow – but she didn't.

Wiping her eyes, she looked into the mountains in the distance. She could go now. She could run. If she ran away now, no one would know where she went. Everyone would assume she was dead and she could rebuild her life without having to marry anyone. Even if it meant never seeing that elf again. She winced at this. She was thinking about _him?_ Milandy almost felt disgusted with herself. She was smarter than this. She was smarter than to let some good looking elf prince charm her.

"They are looking for you," a voice said soft in tone, as not trying to alarm her. Despite this, Milandy gave an audible shout, jolting her hands onto the ground and preparing to run as she looked up at the figure.

"You..." she sniffled, using the sleeve of her shirt to wipe her eyes. "You must stop scaring me, Legolas. One day I will mistake you for an enemy and we all know how that would end up," she attempted to laugh, but instead it came out as a sob.

"Yes. You'd end up unconscious." He gave her a soft smile, quickly stepping behind the rocks to join her, carefully kneeling down before her to be on her eye level. "I did not think you would take this well," he said, speaking gently. Although she could tell he was trying to calm her, Milandy merely edged away from him.

"Do you seriously mean to gloat?" She asked. "_Now?"_

He shook his head, extending his hand to her. "No. I only mean to express my empathy for your situation."

Taking his hand, she rose with him as he stood, biting down on her bottom lip in an attempt at holding in any more tears. "I'm sorry you're seeing me like this."

"Your heart is wounded," he mused. "It is part of healing it." Legolas paused, watching her for just a moment before smiling. "And I promise I shall not tell a soul."

"Thank you," she laughed, a short, gasp of a chuckle. "This is... I've done many things before, overcome great challenges, but... this is something new."

"It wouldn't be a challenge if it were not difficult." He smiled at her, moving his hand to give her arm a pat. "Ekki mikiou sagan hefur veriu fæddur um auodvelda líf."

Milandy paused before a great smile overtook her face. _No great tales are born from an easy life._ Another Dalish saying. "You _have_ been practising."

"It is a good language," he admitted, offering her his arm and waiting for her to take it before leading her back to the others, who she could faintly see in the distance. "It is straight to the point. The language of commanders and hard workers."

"People who don't have time to add poetry to everything."

"Do not think it immune to beauty, if that's what you mean," he corrected her. "All language can be lyrical and ripe with beauty if the one speaking it feels something strong enough to warrant it."

"Is that so?" She asked. "Perhaps we may practice with each other on the ride to camp, then. It would be nice to keep busy." As she said this, she realised she was almost reunited with the rest of their people, and Legolas released her arm, giving her a smile and a nod. "Thank you," she said, turning a little red with shame at her puffy eyes, that everyone would no doubt see. "I needed a friend."

"Gellon ned i galar i chent gîn ned i gladhog," he replied, his eyes fixed on her for just a beat before he turned and made his way to the horse the Gimli stood beside. Milandy's breath caught in her throat and her nails dug into her palms. _This_ Sindarin she knew. This she _had_ learned.

_I delight when your eyes shine when you laugh._

Milandy felt a cold sweat break out. She hadn't stolen anything, she had no riches to show for this journey, she was about ride into a war she hardly cared about _and_ she was about to be married. And not to him.

For the first time since she was 16 and sneaking out of the palace, Milandy was very, _very_ afraid.


	14. Wedlock

"Are you nervous?" Eowyn asked, braiding Milandy's hair, threading beads into it, the red sunset peeking out from underneath the flaps of the tent.

"What's there to be nervous about?" Milandy said, her voice almost monotone, her eyes a little glazed over as her hope rapidly decreased.

"Well, there's the vows," she began to list, "the celebration after, the…" Eowyn's braiding slowed down as she stopped herself. "...There's much to be nervous about."

Milandy raised an eyebrow, eyeing Eowyn in the reflection of the small mirror. On noticing the blonde was flushed in her cheeks, Milandy couldn't help but smile to herself. "Do you mean the wedding night, perhaps?"

Eowyn quickly glanced between the braid and reflection of Milandy in the mirror. "I… I…" Milandy laughed a little to herself on hearing her stutter.

"It's nothing to be nervous about," Milandy explained, her voice gentle, trying to not further embarrass Eowyn. "It comes naturally."

"You have…" Eowyn froze, her mouth agape a little before she shook her head and returned to Milandy's hair. "Forgive me. I am prying."

There was a brief silence. "I have," Milandy admitted. "I am no maid. Until now I have had no need to be."

Eowyn threaded the end of the braid, reaching out and taking a simple, golden circlet from the top of the trunk beside them. She sat it on Milandy's head, the shape fitting her perfectly, shining in her hair, and Eowyn leaned in, whispering. "I shan't say anything." She gave her a small smile when Milandy caught her gaze in their reflection once more. "You look beautiful," she commented.

"I would do anything to wear a nice pair of trousers right now," Milandy admitted. "How can you wear dresses and skirts all the time as you do? Do you not find it…" she paused, trying to find the right word. "Cumbersome?"

"It's all I've ever known." Eowyn gave a gentle smile, her eyes not joining her lips, sadness in them as she gestured for Milandy to stand. Milandy watched her in the mirror as she began to fasten the ties on the back of her dress, one of a pale blue as they'd had no fabric of white or red, which were traditional for both Dalish and Rohirrim weddings, respectively. Milandy had never really been partial to dresses, not since she'd left her life in Dale, but she couldn't help but admire it, the way the fabric hung from her body, draping over her decolletage to hang elegantly around the neckline, the slight shine of it in the light where the fabric was more fitted - it was quite a dress, indeed. Her favorite detail, however, was a belt that sat around her hips on a slight angle, one made of large coins. Eowyn had explained this was traditional, that it was meant to bring good luck and prosperity for a married couple. Milandy didn't mind the dress at all, although she'd wished she would have worn it for a happier occasion.

"Perhaps when the war is over," Milandy began, smoothing the fabric over her torso, marvelling at what a perfect fit it was, "I will use my new influence to have you a pair of fine trousers commissioned, and you and I may both go riding and hunting." She turned, reaching out and taking Eowyn's hand, giving it a squeeze. "I owe you a great deal. It is your kindness that has made this less sharp than it may have been for me."

There was a silence between the two, but one of softness, of shared gratitude. Milandy felt almost guilty that she'd resented being paired with Eowyn at first, when in fact she had turned out to be the closest thing to a friend she'd had since she left the Eastern border. "It is time," Eowyn spoke when the sound of drums began. "Do you remember everything?"

Milandy gave a nod, and without warning, Eowyn flung her arms around her, hugging her tightly. "Not all battles will be fought with swords," she whispered, "and you are brave and valiant."

Milandy felt a sting of guilt at the use of the word 'valiant.' She certainly wouldn't call herself that, especially when she had originally come seeking to steal - but she didn't have much time to think on this, as Eowyn soon lead her from the safety of the tent and outside, where Aragorn awaited.

"My Lady," he said, offering his arm to her. She looked into the distance, where an aisle had formed, lined with those they had ridden with. At the end awaited King Theoden, who seemed to be smiling and less troubled than Eomer, who was staring at the ground. She could run now. She doubted that anyone would stop her, and although she would be embarrassed, she could possibly make it somewhere safe without weapons or a horse. The smile on Theoden's face kept her feet still, though. He had done all this for her, and Eomer, despite his utter bitterness, had agreed to sacrifice his own hopes of finding a wife of his choosing in order to help her. She couldn't turn her back on this. They had done too much for her to flee.

The drums continued to sound as Aragorn walked with her towards the two men at the end. She kept her eyes downwards, not daring to look at anyone, not daring to risk glancing at Legolas. Not after what he'd said to her. She kept her eyes lowered, and did not raise them until they stopped walking, until she stood before Eomer and the King. Aragorn bowed to the men, before turning to Milandy and hesitating for a moment. He settled to reach up and give her arm a squeeze of encouragement, his face speaking volumes. The circumstances of this marriage was no secret to those in the fray, and his expression tried to tell her it would be okay as he stepped back into the lines of those who had come to watch.

As Eowyn had told her to, Milandy kneeled before them, her head bowed, her stature humble. She was to marry a future king, and while the procedures may have not been ones she agreed with, it was deeply official to the point where it intimidated her.

"Lady Milandy Aerlath," the King spoke, his voice raised and the drums becoming silent. "Lady of Dale and Granddaughter of King Bard the First of Dale, today you come before us to join Lord Eomer of the house of Eorl, Third Marshal of the Mark and Heir to the throne of Rohan in marriage. Is this your intention?"

"Yes," she replied, her head still bowed, doing her best to stop her body from quivering in nerves and fear.

"And do you pledge your allegiance and loyalty to the house of Eorl and it's people, as well as the Kingdom of Rohan and its people?"

There was a silence in the air in the moments between Theoden asking this and Milandy's response, and it was such a silence that if someone was to drop a pin, the whole procession would have heard it. Milandy had not been to Dale in years, and yet she knew that doing this in dishonesty was a great dishonor, or at least it would be to her people. Perhaps it was not the same for the Rohirrim, or perhaps they thought she wouldn't still harbor feelings of loyalty to her homeland, but despite her desperation for freedom, she still felt something for Dale. If not for Dale, for her family, especially for her Grandfather and Cousin, both who had passed and could no doubt her now. Surely they'd understand. Grandfather Bard _always_ understood her, so did Bain, hence why Bain did not force her to stay when he caught her stealing arms to leave.

"I do."

The tension dissipated so quickly that she could have sworn that she'd heard someone give a laugh of relief. "Then rise," Theoden ordered, "and stand beside him and before your people."

As instructed, Milandy rose, doing her best to not stumble and look somewhat graceful, and stepped to stand across from Eomer. For the first time since the drums had first sounded, he glanced up at her, and she offered him a small, defeated smile before he glanced away again.

"Join your hands," Theoden instructed. As Eowyn has described it, Milandy and Eomer laid their hands upon each other, trying their best to fight how awkward this was for both of them. One of the men beside Theoden gave him a cord of leather, which he began to wrap loosely around their hands, tying them together. "This cord binds you together, binding as leather, strong as the horses we ride into battle. Unbreaking, unfailing, in this life and the next." He paused, looking between the two of them, both of them seemingly focused on their hands. "Eomer, will you take her as your wife?"

Eomer once again looked up to Milandy, catching her gaze this time, not looking away but instead concentrated, as though struggling to not visibly frown or even say 'no.' "Yes," he said, his voice almost monotonous.

"Milandy, will you take him as your husband?"

Squeezing her eyes shut, Milandy spoke quickly as she could. "Yes." With that, Theoden removed the cord, handing it back to the man who'd given it to them before clasping their hands between his.

"It is my great pleasure as the King of Rohan to declare you in wedlock." He separated their hands, but put one of hers in Eomer's before holding them up above them, the two of them moving to face the crowd. "I present the Lord and Lady of Eorl!" Instantly, the people who had gathered breaking into applause as the drums began to sound again. "Let us eat, drink, and be merry before we ride into battle!"

King Theoden lowered their hands back down, and the two began to make their way down the formation of people, neither of them saying a word, small smiles with them to save face.

As the two passed Legolas who had stood at the end, of the procession, Milandy sharply breathed in, unable to do anything but bite her lip to hold her smile in place. She wanted to hate him for doing that to her the day of her sham marriage, but she couldn't. No matter how she tried, she just couldn't hate him.


	15. Marriage Bed

There was much celebration, indeed. Even though they were at camp and readying for battle in under two days, the men drank and sang as though there was nothing else in the world but this wedding. As Milandy sat by the fire next to her new husband and sipped on her own cup, she watched them and couldn't help but wonder if maybe this was a good thing for everyone else. Perhaps the men needed this morale boost. "It is good to see some celebration, at least," she murmured to Eomer.

To her surprise, he nodded in agreement. "It has definitely lifted their spirits. It is good for them."

"They drink to your name," Milandy smiled. "They are happy for _you._ You are obviously a great Marshal."

"They are the men who will carry us to victory," Eomer explained, making Milandy wonder if he had resigned to his fate or if perhaps the drink was allowing him to give her more than a single word response. "Many of them will die for Rohan and Gondor. Realizing this is what makes a Marshal worth his title. It creates respect."

"Is it that grim?" She asked quietly. There was a pause, Eomer continuing to watch the fire.

"Grim enough that my uncle had cause to marry us sooner rather than later, that he worried I may not survive," he admitted. "But it is not without hope. There will be forces awaiting us already, and we will be an unexpected arrival." He nodded to himself, his gaze turning to her. "Will you be joining us in battle?" He asked.

Milandy smiled and shook her head, taking a sip of her wine before she spoke. "Maybe in another world where I would be permitted."

"Permitted?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "You are my wife now. I permit you to do as you wish." She gave him a double take, confused. He would allow that? Even though his uncle originally did not?

"Really?" She asked. "You'd let me join you in battle?" She watched him carefully. "_Really?_"

"Of course," he gave a solemn nod, "I have seen how it pains my sister to be kept away from battle. She believes it will bring her glory, but…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "I may not love you as I should a wife, I may never, I will admit that. But I have a duty to at least make you happy." He gave a shrug. "And I am to understand your agreement to marry me was in part due to your reluctance to leave our cause. If fighting with us makes you happy, so be it."

Milandy sat in silence for a moment, her eyes studying his expression. "You are… that is very kind of you. Thank you."

"We are married now," he began relaxing a little in posture. "It is not ideal, but it does not mean we have to resign to misery for the rest of our days. At the least, we must make peace with our lives."

Milandy gave a nod, gazing into her cup. "I suppose that if we were to become friends, the rest of our lives may not be so bad."

He laughed to himself, tilting his head back and swallowing the rest of his drink, wiping his mouth and smiling. "One day we will be King and Queen, how bad can it possibly be?"

Milandy smiled, but her face dropped when a particular thought flashed into her mind. "If… _when_ that happens," she began, choosing her words carefully, "I won't have to wear dresses all the time, will I?" At this, Eomer gave a real, loud, _genuine_ laugh, the sincerity striking Milandy ever so slightly.

"No," he chuckled as he shook his head. "No, I would not force you into such misery. You may be the trousered Queen of Rohan if it keeps you happy."

"And _that,_" she began, taking her own turn to laugh, "is the greatest wedding gift you could possibly offer me."

Suddenly and without warning, a voice piped up, low and gruff and slightly slurred in its speech. Gimli had his cup raised in the air, a grin on his face and particles of food in his face. Legolas stood beside him, looking slightly uncomfortable as the dwarf roared above the other voices, bringing them to silence. "Let us toast! To Eomer of the Mark! May he lead us into victory and glory! And to Lady Milandy, the rebellious princess! May she find glory in marriage and in battle!" With that, there was a cheer from the men, but Gimli continued. "And most of all, to their marriage! May they live long and valiantly, and make many, _many_ children to carry on tales of their glory!" His voice became a low rumble with this, Legolas bringing a his index finger and thumb to pinch the bridge of his nose as his eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment.

The men gave a uproarious cheer to this and Eomer gave a loud laugh, shaking his head. Milandy, however, felt her face flush. She _knew_ how… raunchy weddings could get, of course, but it certainly didn't feel right. Not with a man she didn't love and not in front of the rightful king of Gondor and the Prince of The Woodland Re- she stopped her train of thought there. Why was she still concerned with him? This was her wedding day, and even if she didn't exactly love her new husband, she was still married.

"And with that," another voice announced, "it is time for us to retire!" King Theoden smiled to the men, several disappointed sighs coming from the group. "We must ride in the morning, remember."

"And the couple must enjoy their wedding night!" Gimli roared, the men joining in with him. Milandy watched as Legolas slowly reached out and took Gimli's cup from him, the dwarf so drunk he barely noticed.

Milandy felt a hand on her arm, delicate and soft, and most of all: familiar. Eowyn smiled at the two, her face gentle and a little tired. "Come," she instructed both. "I have readied a tent for you." The two followed Eowyn away from the still singing group of men, past some of the shanties and tents that had been raised for the night and to one that had the flickering light of candles coming from beneath the gaps. "It is not the rooms of home, but I have done the best with what we have." She nodded to her brother, and smiled at Milandy before taking her into another her. "We are sisters now," she laughed, the excitement in her voice sincere. Milandy tried as hard as she could to find the joy in this that Eowyn did, but it still came back to her having married a man she didn't love, or even really like that much considering how he'd first spoken to her. Although he had extended a kindness to her tonight and she had confidence that things would not be as miserable as she had anticipated, Milandy was far from happy.

Without another word, Eowyn took her leave, smiling as she did so, the two standing awkwardly by the entrance for what felt like a while until Eomer finally exhaled and parted the flap of the tent, gesturing for Milandy to enter. She stepped inside, Eomer following her, leaving it to close behind them and finally leaving them totally and utterly alone.

Eowyn had, by all means, done a wonderful job with the tent. A large rug had been laid out, providing most of the tent with some sort of floor, and candles gave it a warm, deep light. In the center of the tent laid a bed for two, not as high or grand as one you would have found in their usual lodgings, but probably nicer than what most of the men had to sleep on the night. On either side of the tent sat two trunks, clothes folded on the top of both, Milandy recognizing her regular riding gear amongst them. At least she could take comfort in knowing she wouldn't have to wear a dress tomorrow.

She wandered further in, the reality setting in of what was expected now. That bed was intended to be their marriage bed. This was where they were expected to consummate their marriage to truly make it official and binding. Milandy had to physically hold in a shudder at the thought. Eomer wasn't ugly by any means, and perhaps he was attractive from an objective standpoint, but he wasn't the kind of man Milandy wanted to lay with. Not right now, anyway. Milandy didn't want to lay with _anyone._ Although he had been kind to her that night, she still remembered the look of disgust in his eyes beforehand, when it was agreed he would marry her, when they took their vows. That wasn't something she would easily forget, she imagined. He may have been valiant and selfless when it was needed, but she had been on the end of his distrust and anger. She did not think him very becoming, no matter how many maidens may have thought she was living a fairy tale.

She made her way to the side of the bed, fidgeting with her hands nervously as she heard his footsteps within the tent. Milandy knew you didn't need to _love_ a man to lay with him, of course. Of all people, _she_ knew that. And she had, despite not wanting to admit it, laid with someone once for dishonest reasonings during her youth, but this? This didn't feel right. She was not panicked of frightened by any means. If she had to lay with him, she had to lay with him and she supposed she would just go through the motions and pretend he were someone else. But it was something she would prefer to avoid.

"I uh…" she finally spoke, her voice quiet. "Eowyn has done a fine job. This is… cosy." She paused. Not the best word. "Or, well, intimate." No. Wait. Even worse. "Uh. Comfortable. No. Um. _Nice._"

"Yes," his voice exhaled, the sound of metal shifting following. His belt. He was removing his belt. Or a piece of his armor. She couldn't tell but she wasn't sure she wanted to know. "She's always had a gift for comforting others." Milandy gave a cringe, not really caring if he could see. This was happening. This was going to happen. She was going to have to go through the motions.

Milandy reached back and began to pull at the ties on the back of her gown. It wouldn't be so bad, and perhaps she'd get accustomed to it over time. In fact, she didn't really know what she'd expected to happen. It was part of the bargain, she supposed as she slid down the dress over one of her shoulders.

"My Lady," he suddenly said, causing her to freeze and turn to face him. Eomer was without a layer of his armor, clad in a shirt and his trousers but no less, his eyes lowered and his expression uncomfortable. He must have noticed her removing her dress. "I would not expect you to… fulfill such a duty."

Milandy watched him silently, unsure of what to really say, the awkwardness of this entire encounter incredibly heavy. Eventually, though, she gave a nod and pulled her d ress back up over her shoulder. "Thank you," she murmured.

"I may be... many things," he said, reaching back to scratch behind his neck, "but I also have honor."

"They will expect children one day," she thought aloud, awkwardly fidgeting with the belt of coins. "There'll be a need for children, anyway. There's a line to carry on, a throne that needs a heir."

"Things to worry about after this war," Eomer declared, his voice tired as he reached for one of the pillows. "I will camp on the floor. You may have the bed to yourself."

"No," Milandy suddenly blurted, wondering if she'd accidentally made her intentions seem otherwise. "You cannot go sleeping on floors the rest of our lives," she sighed, shaking her head and moving to him, taking the pillow back and tossing it onto the bed. "We have to make peace with this. I trust your intentions and honor enough to share a bed with you as..." she struggled to find the word. "...As shieldmates. Not as a married couple."

Eomer hesitated, looking between her and the bed a few times. "I would not lay a finger on you, but... are you not... uncomfortable with such an arrangement?"

Milandy spent a moment searching his expression, confused as to what he was implying, when it suddenly became clear to her. Oh. Oh. Of course. He was assuming she was a maid. Smiling, Milandy reached out to him and put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. How little he knew. "You keep to your side of the bed, I keep to mine, there won't be any problems."

* * *

Milandy was incredibly thankful to be back in trousers and out of dresses as she rode with the men the next morning. She deliberately chose to not ride beside Eomer this morning, longing for her space for a while. A day would come where they would both have to resign to each others constant company, and she chose to savor her freedom.

Eomer had, of course, been true to his word and the two had slept so far apart that it was a wonder neither of them rolled off the edge of the bed that night. She had awoken and dressed before him that morning, using Eowyn as an excuse to leave the tent before he'd even roused from his rest. She thought, perhaps, that maybe the two had just gotten off on the wrong foot and had a bad start. Of course, just because she granted that didn't mean she was any more inclined to him than before.

Instead, Milandy rode alone, enjoying her own space for a while, just her and Jodis. It was nice to be alone with her own thoughts for a while, which eventually drifted back to the thought of Legolas' bow, the ring, and all the coin she could amass. In fact, if she stuck this out for a while, she could maybe even get her hands on some kind of special artifact of the Rohirrim. For all she knew, the belt of coins she'd worn for the wedding could have been worth-

"Have you been practicing your archery?" A voice suddenly asked, making her jump a little in the saddle as she snapped from her line of thought. She shot a glance to Legolas, trying to hide her surprise. She'd been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't even noticed him edging up beside her, Gimli passed out atop the same horse as him and snoring loudly.

"I have," she began, straightening her posture, "not as much as I'd like, but I haven't needed those skills in some time."

"Your husband tells me you will join us in battle when we arrive at Gondor," he began, Milandy wincing at the word '_husband.'_ "You will need those skills. Trust me."

Milandy moved to speak, but the snoring dwarf caught her attention once more. "Is he alright?" She asked.

Legolas smiled to himself, a smugness that Milandy had come to enjoy somewhat emanating from him. "Too much ale. He has seen better mornings." He watched Milandy as she gave a little laugh, before lowering his voice. "What of you?" He asked. "Are you faring well?"

She looked around, making sure no one was listening in, and lowered her voice to match his own. "He is kinder than I first assumed. We are both… understanding of the circumstances." She paused. "He has not required anything of me. His honor is admirable."

"Be that as it may, how are _you?_" He asked once more. Milandy thought very carefully, her brow turning to a frown without her even noticing.

"Confused," she began, speaking slowly and carefully, calculating her words. "I am..." she tilted her head, choosing to take a different route. "What you said the day before the wedding..."

"Did you understand it?" He asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Yes," Milandy didn't break her gaze, her eyes settled on the horizon. "It was cruel."

"I assure you," he laughed, "it was a compliment."

"I know," she replied bluntly. "And it was cruel of you to say."

Curious, Legolas tilted his head, frowning, genuinely confused by this. "I do not understand."

"I was to be married."

"But you do not love him, am I correct?"

"It's not the point." She gave a long exhale and began to shake her head, frustrated. She wasn't angry at him for that reason at all, but she didn't want to admit it to herself.

There was a silence between the two before he spoke again. "I must apologies if I caused you any ill feelings. It is our way to describe the beauty we see when we see it."

Her voice even quieter, she spoke once more, almost in a whisper. "You can't say those things to me because I can't feel the way I..." her eyes widened. What was she doing?! Oh no. Oh no, _oh no_. She looked over at his face, which had visibly softened, his trademark arrogant smile as bright as ever. No, no, no he was catching on. Milandy felt as though her her voice had caught in her throat, unable to finish her sentence.

"There will be camp tonight," Legolas began once he was sure she'd finished. "If you would, I'd like to make sure you're prepared for Gondor. Your technique has always been rusty," he grinned and gave her a side eye, "and as fun as watching you is, it would not be in our interest for the future queen of Rohan to perish."

Milandy kept her posture straight and head high, giving a nod. His smile was an arrogant one, but a knowing one. Perhaps, if they could just have time alone, she could make things clear. He'd probably establish that his kindness to her was just his culture, and she'd realize this... these feelings were nothing more than what a lot of humans felt for elves at some point.

"Alone?" She asked. "I would be embarrassed for anyone else to see how poor my form has become." A lie. But he knew that, given the knowing smile.

"Yes," he replied. "Alone."


	16. Spices

"I am glad that the future queen could find time in her schedule," Legolas declared is Milandy approached the small firing range they'd set up, far enough from the camp to give them some space. Milandy glared at the elf, rolling her shoulders and reaching back for her bow, eager to begin.

"What do I have to pay you to never call me that again?" She asked.

He smirked, stepping towards her and watching carefully as she drew her arrow back, aiming at the target. "But it's what you are," he laughed smugly as she fired. Her arrow hit the target, not far from the bullseye, but not as close as she would have preferred. "You slouch," he observed.

Milandy blinked, her jaw a little agape in a simmering outrage. "What?" She asked. "I do _not_ slouch."

"You do," he insisted, coming to stand behind her. He took her shoulder in one hand, gripping gently yet firmly at the space between her shoulder and neck, his other hand moving to the small of her back. "It is unbecoming of a queen to have poor posture," he teased as he pulled back on her shoulder, pushing gently at her lower back and adjusting her stance. She felt her back crack slightly as he did this. Perhaps he had been right. maybe she _did_ slouch and didn't even notice. "Try again," he instructed.

Milandy reached back, taking an arrow from the quiver and once again drawing her bow, aiming for the bullseye and firing. This one landed closer. Noticeably so. The improvement was undeniable, and while Milandy liked to _think_ that she could accept critique, she didn't like being wrong when arguing with Legolas. "Fine." She finally admitted. "Maybe I slouch a little. I'll work on it."

"And your release," he began once more, smirking as usual as he reached into her quiver himself and removed an arrow, handing it to her, "is slack."

"Oh, _please,_" she snorted. "What are you, anyway?" She laughed. "Some kind of expert?"

Legolas didn't respond, but instead eyed her expectantly, an eyebrow raised as Milandy realised that, indeed, he _was._

She exhaled and pulled the arrow to the bowstring. "Okay. _Fine._ How do I fix it?"

Without another word, he closed the distance between them, taking each of her arms in his as he stood behind her, pressed against her to hold her steady. Milandy had to actively remind herself that he was merely helping her with her technique. Even if it felt nice. This wasn't a feeling she'd get to have anymore.

"The key is," he began, his hand over the top of hers as he pulled the bowstring back to demonstrate, "not to go slack until your arrow is far from the string…" Pulling the string as far as it would go, he whispered a "now" into her ear, and Milandy let go, his hand serving to steady her arm and keep it in place, to stop it from relaxing itself as soon as the arrow left her fingers. Surely enough, the arrow found it's mark in the bullseye, Milandy's hand still enveloped within his.

In any other situation, she would have cheered, but a point came where she realised neither of them were letting go of each other or moving away. Rather, their arms slowly lowered with each other, hand still in hand, bodies still close. She swore she felt his breath against her, and for a moment she felt her head tingle and her skin flush with heat. If only she wasn't married. The old Milandy would have turned around, taken him by the collar and-

Married. Milandy almost leapt away. She was _married_. And even though she didn't _want_ to be married, she was, and to a future king, and that had to count for _something_ even if the most beautiful man she'd ever laid her eyes on _was_ holding her in a gentle embrace and she could feel his hair against her skin and his hands on hers and… "I'm… I…" She stuttered for a few moments. "We cannot do this," she finally mustered. "I am married and even if I do not love him… or even _like_ him, really," she added, "it is not…" she trailed off, noticing that for the first time since she had met him, Legolas looked… _uncomfortable._

"I know this," he replied, urgency in his voice as though he'd been just waiting to say it. "And it has caused me a great deal of incertitude. I have tried again and again to view this in a light that would make it anything but what it is, that would make me accept and depart my thoughts."

"Your thoughts?" She asked, knowing instantly that she'd made a mistake by even _asking._

"This is not something of logic," he explained. "I have known you a short time by an elf's standards, a blink of an eye, almost. At first I thought to decipher you, you were so… strange. Like a secret spice or unexpected journey. I sensed something about you, and at first it caused me to distrust you," he admitted. "And yet, even now," Legolas continued as he took another step towards her, brushing a stray lock of her hair back and over her shoulder, "I still can't decipher it. I do not know what it is, but at the same time, I cannot imagine being without it. The roughness you greet others with, but the gentility you bestow onto your horse, the manner with which you curse under your breath, yet the softness I hear your voice take… you are many notes of spice."

"That's…" she mumbled, her voice crackling a little as her throat began to turn dry, her face flushing once more, "certainly… Legolas, these are such bold things to say."

He gave a nod. "You are right, though, you are married, and if you wish it, I will not seek you further." She watched his face carefully, the first sign of any genuine resent she'd ever seen from him herself, and it felt as though Milandy's heart was swelling beneath her chest.

She reached out, taking one of his hands and holding it between both her hers. "Legolas, if I could, I would have you seek me forever."

He gave her a gentle smile in return. "So you feel it?" He asked.

"I have for a while, the inklings of it" she admitted, "before I was even set to marry Eomer. But I am a human and you are an elf. I thought that maybe I had developed a maiden's crush." She have an anxious laugh. "I am sure I am not the first."

"No," he admitted, a genuine smile on his face now, the beaming, sincere one that she loved, "but you _are_ the first who has ever wagered me in a horse race."

"Hey," Milandy warned, her face falling and her voice turning stern. "I would have won that if you'd played fairly!"

"It's hardly _my_ fault that you had to get off your horse to do battle." His smile turned smug once more and Milandy wasn't sure if she wanted to kiss him or strike him.

Instead, though, she looked downwards and spoke so quietly it was almost a whisper. "What will we do?" She asked. "I am married, and I am sure that you value your honor greatly."

He took a deep breath, a long exhale following, making Milandy wonder what he was thinking of, how his thought process worked. "We wait for a solution to be provided," he finally replied. "And until then, we can do as we always have."

"Which is?" Milandy asked.

"Find joy in the little things," he explained. "The glances, your laughter, the way yo-"

A voice cleared by the edge of the area they'd set up, interrupting Legolas and causing Milandy to leap back and stumble a little, which was perhaps less discreet than what they'd been doing beforehand. Gimli stood before them, arms crossed, an eyebrow raised, and although he didn't look angry, he didn't look happy, either. "I'd thought ye'd both be smart 'nuff ta' not get caught."

"Uh," Milandy began to stammer a little, glancing between the two. "I was merely demonstrating an Eastern hand-to-hand technique that I-"

"Save it, Lass," he interrupted. "I won't be tellin' no one," he paused, eyeing Legolas, "much as I'd like ta' see ol' King Thanduril's face wenna' tell 'im that yer bin' running round with a human." Gimli directed his disappointment back to Milandy now, who had turned bright red. "But ye'd best be careful. Lucky it was me an' not Aragorn. Or werse."

"What is it you need?" Legolas asked, cutting in.

"Aragorn's up te' somethin'," he explained, glancing between the two again. "But I canni' tell ya' in front o' this lass." With that, he tilted his head back to the camp, gesturing for him to follow. Legolas merely looked to her, giving her an apologetic look before following, neither of them wanting to make it look any worse than it was.

As the sun set, Milandy stayed in the makeshift archery range, fidgeting with her sleeves as she watched them walk away. This was her forever.

* * *

_Okay, this one was a bit shorter but something is happening next chapter. Promise. Pinkie swear.  
Also, thanks for the reviews, guys! Loving them. They keep me inspired._


	17. Stolen Moments

Milandy shook her head, pacing about her tent, her arms crossed. She was furious. "And still he will not allow you into battle?" She asked in complete disbelief. "Even after Eomer argued your case?"

"Theoden refuses to budge. Neither myself nor Merry will be permitted to join the men in battle."

"Merry?" Milandy asked. "As in the Hobbit?"

"Theoden says he will only get in the way," she explained, her face turning even more to a frown. "He wanted to join them almost as much as I."

Milandy was almost shaking with rage. She'd thought things may change, that perhaps she was being permitted to battle because they would also permit Eowyn to fight beside her. But that was not it. They had been desperate for men, desperate for soldiers, but not enough to let a woman and a Hobbit join them. As Milandy tried to contain her anger, the flaps of the tent parted, a throat cleared to announce itself. Eomer carefully looked between the two, already aware of Milandy's volatility.

"Milandy," he began, glancing between her and Eowyn as his sister gave him a look of warning. "King Theoden has requested you meet with us to discuss the battle. There may be a time that you will need to lead men of your own and he wants you prepared."

"Lead?" Milandy asked, looking back at Eowyn. The look on her face almost drove a knife through Milandy. She would get to lead while Eowyn was expected to stay behind. That was Eowyn's desire. Not hers. Milandy had _never _sought this. "What if," she asked, turning back to Eomer, "I wanted to lead a squad that included Eowyn? I trust no other in battle as I do her."

He shook his head, looking as though he'd heard this a hundred times before. "It is impossible."

"No, it is _not,_" Milandy argued, her voice raising as she gestured her hand to herself. "_I_ am permitted into battle – I'm even, apparently, permitted to _lead,_ why not Eowyn?"

"Milandy," he exhaled, "she is Lady of Rohan, it is differ-"

"And I am to be _Queen_ of Rohan some day!" She interrupted. "You cannot possible tell me that she-"

"Milandy," he spoke, his voice loud enough to reach over the top of hers, barely low enough to avoid being a shout. "You are allowed to join us in battle because _I_ have permitted it." He paused, looking as though he was struggling to continue further. "As your husband."

"Then permit her as her brother!"

"I can't," he exhaled. "As your husband I have the authority to give you permission. But as Eowyn's brother... that authority falls to our Uncle. Her guardian." He looked to Eowyn, his face softening and almost looking hurt. "And it will remain that way until she is married."

A long silence fell in the tent, Milandy weighing this up. In truth, she felt a little embarrassed. It was quite obvious, but perhaps Milandy had been so angry that she couldn't take the time to _think._ She looked up at Eomer's expression, his far from comfortable as well. Perhaps he was as frustrated with this as she was, she thought, and for a moment, she felt something warm for him. A fondness. Something that wasn't annoyance or disgust or just _tolerance_ of him. "And what of the Hobbit?" She finally asked. "Why is he not to join us?"

The fondness was gone as quickly as it had appeared when she saw him visible roll his eyes. "You _also_ wish for the halfling to join us?" He asked, shooting a glance to Eowyn.

Eowyn suddenly rose, quickness in her movements, an urgency in her voice. "And why should he not?" She asked. "Why should he not fight for what he believes in? As any other man?"

"We have been through this," Eomer began, "he is a _halfling._ The reach of his arm alone is a hindrance. Theoden is right, we cannot afford a single ride to be concerned with him." Shaking his head, he looked to Milandy now. "Come, Milandy, there is much for you to know of-"

"No," Milandy cut in, Eowyn's eyes widening with shock. "Tell our _uncle_ that he assigned me to be Lady Eowyn's guardswoman, and I shall remain by her side, where I belong."

For a moment, Milandy was sure that Eomer would be mad with her, or that there'd be some sort of consequence to her sudden declaration. Instead, however, he smiled. Not a beaming grin, but a soft one. "I shall inform him," he replied, before giving a nod to each of them. "May you be well."

"You too..." Milandy shook her head, furious still. This didn't feel like a victory at all. "Excuse me," she announced, moving poast Eomer and out of the tent. "I need some air."

Milandy moved through the camp, around and between different tents and shanties, trying to make some space for herself. This was all going wrong. Since when did she even _care_ about Eowyn? Let alone some Hobbit she'd maybe seen once or twice. This was ridiculous. She came for the bow and the ring, and she had neither. She didn't have a sliver of silver to show for any of this. Nothing. And now, thanks to her temper, she couldn't even fake her own death in battle – a thought that had crossed her mine several times.

It was by the armory that she found Gimli, packing his things as though he were about to set out somewhere. "Gimli?" She asked as he glanced to her. "What is going on?" She asked. "Why do you ready your weapons?"

"Aragorn rides tonight, Lass," he explained, a smirk on his face, "an' I'll be buried under th' Lonely Mountain myself 'for he sneaks off without me 'n' yer elf."

"Wait, he rides _tonight?_" She repeated. "Before ba-" Milandy paused, her thoughts finally catching up with her mouth, crossing her arms. "He is not _my_ elf."

Gimli gave a snort, slinging a shield over her back. "Oh, I think 'yer wrong there, Lass," he laughed. "That elf's been yers' fer a long while, since yeh tried ta' outrun 'im with yeh pony."

"What?" She asked, shaking her head in disbelief. "No, I assure you, it's not... er... _wasn't _like that."

Gimli stopped packing for a moment, long enough to look directly up to her and search her face. "Yeh really dun' know, do yeh?"

"Know _what?"_

"'Bout the significance of that strand o' yer' hair," he explained. "There's tales, yeh now, 'bout warriors who would ask fer' just a strand of Galadriel's hair..."

"Galadriel?" She asked. Milandy, of course, knew the name, but thought she was of legend. Then again, she'd thought tales of the elf bowwoman and the dwarf were legend, too – and they had been real. "She's real?"

Gimli nodded. "They really dun' teach yer much up there in Dale, do they, Lass? Her hair surpasses the gold of the earth, as the stars surpass th' gems of th' mine. It's a great beauty, lass, yer elf boy's locks? Pale in comparison." He gave a singular chuckle at himself for this as he continued. "Great warriors 'ave asked fer' just a strand of her hair, but she refused 'em all. 'Till I asked." At this, Gimli gave a wide, proud smile, and Milandy thought he might blush at even the mere _thought_ of it. "He looked up to her, his eyes squinted in a smile and his voice in a whisper of glee. "I got _three._"

"Three?" She repeated, impressed, watching as he proudly nodded.

"Aye. But t' get jus' _one_ would 'ave been... beyond an honour, lass. Lady Galadriel is the fairest these eyes 'ave ever seen." He gave a happy sigh and leant back down, taking a rucksack and slinging it across his back. "Now, yer hair jus' looks like a big ol' mess o' red ta' me, lass, but that might jus' be 'cause we share th' same colourin''," he began, gesturing to his beard before pointing at her hair, "but yeh elf boy wanted a strand o' it, an' judgin' by what I saw yeh getting' up ta', I doubt he wanted it as a trophy."

Milandy watched Gimli pack in silence for a few moments, her eyes wide. Was this true? Was _this_ how deep it was? Had he really... all this time? "Gimli," she asked, "where is Legolas now?"

"Prob'ly in his tent, Lass. I-"

Gimli didn't get to finish, because Milandy was already walking as fast as she could without breaking into a run. She ducked and swerved past the men, navigating a way to the tent she was seeking that would leave her as unseen as possible. Her mind racing, her heart pounding, her body so anxious and tense that she was almost shivering as her head buzzed about, vibrations in her fingertips. She came to the opening of his tent, saying his name once in warning before entering, not awaiting his permission.

"Milandy?" He asked, setting down his bow, genuinely surprised. "Is something-"

Without pause or hesitation, Milandy grabbed him by his collar, pulling him towards her, their lips crashing together as she'd wanted to do since the archery range. At first she was sure he was shocked, and she'd expected him to pull away or shove her from him, but once the surprise subsided, he leant into her, her arms sliding up over his shoulders and his hands pulling her closer by her waist, his arms pulling her body tightly to his in a jolt of movement as they lost themselves. Milandy knew she'd wanted this, although she hadn't gone as far as to imagine what it would be like, but it was as though the tingling she'd felt in her fingertips only moments ago had travelled to her lips, and she wished it could stay that way for good.

After a while, they parted naturally, their bodies still close, his brow pressed to hers and their eyes closed as they savoured this moment, this feeling, everything within that tent. "Gimli told me about the strand of hair," she finally whispered.

He smiled, tightening his grip on her momentarily. "I was wondering what brought this on."

"I wish this was different," she exhaled.

"As do I," he began, moving his head upwards to kiss her gently on her brow. "But if it means you will be near to me, I will survive off such stolen moments."

"What will we do?" She asked. "Where does this go?" She opened her eyes, looking into his, hoping to see the usual knowledge she usually found within them.

"First," he gently smiled, taking some of the hair from the side of her face and running it between his fingers, "we end this war. After that? I am sure a solution will come." He brushed it back behind her ear. "But until then, we take every day as a new story."

"Can I not come with you?" She asked. "Tonight? Can I not be there with you?"

Legolas shook his head. "You are needed here," he began, his trademark arrogant smile re-appearing. "The men have been singing songs of the beautiful future Queen of Rohan," he teased, "who rides into battle beside the future King and his men. You are good for morale."

"I am not riding anywhere," she replied, ignoring his jesting. "I will be remaining here with Lady Eowyn."

He raised an eyebrow. "Really?" He asked. "Did you elect to do this?"

"Yes," she nodded. "I will not take the glory which she seeks from her."

"That is noble of you. You continue to surprise me," he said, giving a nod of his own. "You must stay with her, then. Lady Eowyn will need you."

"_We_ need you," Milandy insisted. "Must you go?" All that Legolas could give her in reply was a nod, Milandy's heart sinking. "And you will return?"

"I would hope," he laughed. "I do not imagine Aragorn would abandon the Rohirrim on the day of battle. We will come to meet them."

Milandy paused, looking downwards. "Is where you're going safe?" She asked.

"I do not know."

Milandy wasn't sure how to react to this. Part of what comforted her about the battlefield was that there were people everywhere, more people to help, more allies. But if it were just the three of them? What if they crossed paths with the enemy's armies? What if they became outnumbered, and she wasn't even there?

Milandy felt his hand squeeze at her hip. "It will be fine, and we will see victory," he assured her.

She wanted to argue, to plead to come with him, the doubt in her mind screaming within her. But Milandy knew better, and she trusted his word. She had to. She had little else. Leaning back in, she rested the side of her head against his chest. "Do they really sing songs of me?" She asked. "_Really?_"

She felt a deep, singular laugh come from his chest, and without even looking she could tell his arrogant smile was making a re-appearance. "They're... works in progress."

"So they're not very _good?_" She asked as she looked up at him. Legolas hesitated before smiling and shaking his head.

"No. They are not."

* * *

Milandy was positive that if she had come back to anything else, she would have felt wracked with guilt. She didn't love Eomer, and he didn't love her, but they both had a duty to each other and the Rohirrim now. What she had done was... it was adultery, and while Milandy had been the 3rd party at least once in her less savoury adventures, she had never been the one in _this _position.

Luckily for her, however, Milandy _didn't_ have time to feel guilty, as she found Eowyn in _her_ tent, sitting on _her_ bed with her arms crossed, a sword over her lap and a helmet by her side. For a moment, Milandy thought she had perhaps caught them. Maybe she was angry. But that wouldn't explain the sword. She knew Eowyn was a skilled swordswoman, but she didn't think she had the temper to kill her over such a thing. Did she? She wasn't sure if she wanted to know.

"I will be riding with the Rohirrim into battle," Eowyn declared, her eyes stern, a fire within them. Milandy gave a smile, partially of relief that her own misdeeds had yet to be discovered, but mostly out of joy for Eowyn.

"So you got permission?" She asked. "I am so happy for you!"

"No," Eowyn replied bluntly. "I did not. I have found myself armour, a horse and arms of my own. I shall masquerade as a man."

"Eowyn... that's..." Milady tossed her head from side to side, both her eyebrows raised, "not a bad idea. I'm impressed."

"I do not expect you to join me," Eowyn continued. "But it is something I must do."

Milandy gave a laugh, coming to sit on the bed beside her, taking the helmet in her hands and examining it. "And let _you_ have all of the fun?" She asked. "Now, _that_ is out of the question." Not taking her eyes off the helmet, Milandy thought for a moment. She knew where she wanted to be in battle, and it wasn't in a position where someone might try and 'protect' her as a Lady. "I'll dress as a man, too," she decided. "We will do this together. And we will bring your Hobbit."


	18. Sisters

A three day gallop to Minas Tirith was nothing for Milandy. Concealing her identity, however, was. Eowyn had braided her hair and wrapped it into a bun so it would not be visible. There were many blonde men on the ride, she had said, but few with hair coloured like rust. This wouldn't have been a problem had her hair not been so long, the size of the bun pressing against the back of her helmet, causing discomfort. She'd done more battles without a helmet than she had with, and _she'd_ been fine. Still, it was necessary if she wished to hide herself.

Eowyn had not faltered, either, which had surprised even Milandy. A few times she had noticed the Hobbit nod off, but she supposed he was entirely new to this. She wondered how he would fair when they arrived. Milandy hoped he would survive, anything to prove Eomer wrong, but in the back of her head, she knew that was unlikely. It would be a miracle for him to come out of this alive.

She could smell the smoke long before they could see the battlefield. Smoke and metal and burning bodies. She could hear the screams and thunderous sound of stone crumbling, the cries of Orcs in a tongue she did not understand. It was when she could finally see it over the hill that Milandy felt the first sting of it – not a fear so much as a dread, the anxiety that came with not knowing your fate. The armies before them were great in number, larger than she had ever seen, squares of black that marched and scrambled and moved. The riders came to a stop over the hill, a thousand eyes upon them from below as they took in the sight. The city burned and the walls crumbled before them, Eowyn giving a small, audible gasp.

Milandy's heart began to race, her blood churning away within her, causing her ears to beat and become fuzzy. Her eyes studied the battlefield before them. Was Aragorn there? Legolas? Gimli? Had they returned? Even if they had, she would not be able to see them. The blood in her ears seemed to drown out all sound spare for the horns and the screams that came from inside the city. Had they already breached the gates? Milandy's breath felt like fire within her mouth as she watched Theoden ride up and down the front line, his sword clinking against the raised spears. "Ride to ruin!" was all she heard before the roars of her own men, before her eyes flickered to Eomer far from her. She felt a twinge of guilt as she gave her war cry with them. Perhaps she should have at least been beside him. Perhaps that was the least she could have done to repay him. She glanced to Eowyn, who's eyes were fixed ahead, filled with purpose, the eyes of someone riding to their destiny. She would need her to guard her, but Milandy would stay close by.

They rode forward, Milandy's spear raised although she had little intention of using it. Instead, she kept low, hoping that an arrow would not strike her, knowing there was naught else that she could possibly do until she found herself in the thick of battle. On horseback, she was almost useless, that much she knew and understood well.

When they began to ride into the cusp of the battlefield, Milandy tossed her spear at an orc, and not caring if she hit her mark or not, leapt from it, shouting "Jodis! Away!" She would not need Jodis here, and felt as thought she had done the right thing as her horse turned and ran from the conflict. On foot now, she took her blades from their sheaths and gave a cry as she swung her right arm, sticking an enemy in his chest. Swinging down to avoid a blow from another, she kicked into it's chest, taking the same blade and driving it into another. The orcs were strong and full of anger, but Milandy was quick and small and hard to hit as long as she kept her wits about her. Avoiding a swing of a hammer, she climbed the corpse of the fallen orc as it collapsed to it's knees, using it to leap to her assailant. As she straddled the beast's shoulders, her head flung back in the struggle, her helmet flying from her head and her braid unravelling from its bun. The secret was out now, but there would be little point in keeping it now.

She drove her blades into each of the beasts shoulders, pulling them inwards and to his neck in one swift movement, using all her strength to retrieve her blades from it and flee from the body before it fell. Stumbling as she landed she heard her name called. "Milandy!" A voice roared s she backed into the side of a horse, an orc beside her falling to it's knees. "I had thought you stayed!"

She looked up to see Eomer, his face full of anger, but not at her. His was the face of war as he struck down enemy after enemy, Milandy only having moments to do the same before kicking one away herself, slicing it at the neck with a grunt. "And allow-" she began, giving a cry as she drove both her blades into the back of an enemy, drawing downwards, the feeling of her blades hitting bone ringing through her arms. "-the men to take all the glory?" She dropped down, grabbing a discarded spear and driving it up and through the torso of yet another attacker as the few strays around them began to flee to regroup.

And that was when they heard it.

The ground thundered beneath her feet, and horns sounded – but new horns, ones not like those of the Rohirrim or their enemy. No. This was one Milandy had heard before. One that set a fire in her belly and turned her spine to ice at the same time. From the darkness of Mordor came the chants she knew so well, the ones that would send entire cities on the Eastern border into garrison, the chants that even struck fear into her. They all watched, awestruck at the sheer size of the creatures that rode towards them, the Oliphaunt riding to them making Milandy's stomach sink. She'd never, _ever_ seen one this close before, and never one used for war, never ones with spikes or archers. Without a word and without taking his eyes from the towering figures that rode towards them, Eomer outreached his arm to her, and Milandy instantaneously obliged, using it to steady herself as she swung herself up and onto the back of his horse. "The Harak..." she gasped as they rode to the front line, which was being re-formed.

"You know of them?" He asked.

"Yes," Milandy responded, her grip on the spear tightening as they steadied their horse in the front line. Not caring to hide herself any more, she looked around herself to the other men. "Avoid their arrows!" She declared, "the poison will make the smallest of wounds fatal!"

Before she knew it, they rode into battle again, Milandy allowing Eomer to manage the horse as she took her bow and flung the spear, firing arrows at the assailants both above and below. Eomer gave a roar as he tossed his own spear towards one of the Oliphaunt riders, spearing him straight in the heart. Milandy couldn't help but think that if they'd only met a year ago, that feat alone would have been enough for her to bed him. The Oliphaunt's head tilted under the weight of it's rider as it tumbled off, driving it sideways and taking out _another_ of the beasts. Yes. She would have bedded him _indee__d _if she had not already fallen for another. She looked around, her eyes widening as she caught sight of Eowyn on foot, Merry nowhere she could see him. "Ride well, husband!" She shouted, reaching forward to squeeze his shoulder before leaping from her horse and onto one of their assailants backs, snapping his neck as her husband rode onwards.

On foot, she sprinted as fast as she could manage towards Eowyn, desperate to help her, even though she appeared to be managing quite well herself. As impressed by Eomer as she was, Eowyn was Milandy's closest friend, and as she came to realise that as she sprinted across the battlefield, Milandy felt her blood rush even more, her heart speed up. Her dearest friend was there without her. Her sister.

Before she could reach her, her head snapped back, her whole body stopping and falling to the ground with the force. Something had her by the braid, and was pulling. She looked up. An orc. It grinned, and snarled, and it growled and gnashed its teeth at her as it tried to pull her up and towards him. She gave a cry of pain before her hand flew to the base of it, trying to alleviate the pull on her scalp. Despite her struggling, however, it was no use. What her enemies lacked in agility, they made up for in brute strength. She gave a cry as she struggled and pulled against the force before she reached up with her blade, slicing into her braid, cutting clearly through it. She stumbled forward under her own force before spinning around, driving her free blade into the orc's eye, her other following into the centre of his neck. Kicking him back to free him of her blades, she turned and continued to run towards Eowyn, immediately noticing how lighter she felt without her long braid.

"Eowyn!" She shouted, slicing through the side of an adversary as she approached, watching as Eowyn drove her sword into the torso of an attacker. Eowyn looked to her, opening her mouth to call Milandy's name, but a deafening noise drowned her out, one that caused Milandy to almost double over as she blocked her ears. The screech rattled in her brain, making her bones shiver as a dragon like creature flung a body from the crowded field. Milandy looked to Eowyn. It didn't take much to guess who that body belonged to, and before Milandy could plead for her to come back, Eowyn ran to Theoden, who lay on the ground before the creature.

She felt a sharp pain to her face, and Milandy stumbled, her hand coming to her nose. While she had wanted to suffer, even for just a short moment, there was no time, as she ducked down and grabbed the orc that had attacked her by it's armour, swinging herself onto his back and stabbing him over and over in the uncovered spots above his shoulders until there was nothing but blood and flesh that her blades could reach. She heard Eowyn scream, but another beast lunged itself at her, and Milandy slid down and between his legs, slashing at the back of his knees. This gave her a chance to check on Eowyn, who was being held by the creature that had ridden whatever had attacked Theoden, the sounds coming from it sending a panic into Milandy.

"_EOWYN!_" She screamed, putting a foot forward to go to her. It was then that she felt a sharp pain to her chest, a hammer throwing her onto her back, sending her skidding along the ground. Milandy have a groan, the air knocked from her lungs, her throat and chest spasmodic in a panic to try and regain the lost air. She could not breath regularly as she held the space between her neck and shoulder with her hand, and instead gasped, choking even though she was not. Milandy could only assume she was lucky and had been flung away far enough to avoid her attacker, because although she could crawl, she could not stand yet. All it would take would be one arrow. One adversary to spot her – and she would be dead.

Taking the refuge she could beside a dead Oliphaunt, Milandy sat herself up, slowly regaining control of her lungs, a high pitched screech throughout the air now. The pain and lack of air was cause for confusion for her, and she swore she could see an ocean of green, flooding the battlefield, their enemies falling beneath it. As her breathing settled and she found herself, she realised she wasn't confused. It was real. An ocean of green, skulls and bones like an army of dead devastated their opposition, laying the orcs and the Rhun and the Harak to ruin. She pulled herself up, desperately searching the fields as she hunched over in pain, blood dropping from her face as she searched for him. Was this army of spirits what Aragorn had left for?

And then, as clear as day, clearer than anything else, Milandy saw a figure on the back of an Olipaunt with no structure on it's back, firing arrows into it's skull and taking the beast down. A figure clad in green. It was him. Legolas had returned, and they would indeed see victory. Just as he had told her.


	19. 10 Summers

"Milandy!" Her mother shouted from the bottom of the wall, castle guards accompanying her. "_What_ have I told you about climbing?!" The little figure at the top of the wall barely gave her a glance, her eyes affixed to city's trade route.

"But _Ma!_" she whined, "the _elves_ are here!" She gripped onto the edge of the wall, peering at the traders as they passed the bridge into the city, singing the songs she loved to hear more than anything, even if she knew nothing of the words.

"I swear, Milandy," her mother warned, giving her a look that could have sent fear into the heart of the most ferocious of monsters. "If you do not come down from there this _instant_ I will send one of the guards up there to _make_ you!"

Rolling her eyes and giving a very, _very_ audible groan, Milandy moved from her spot on the wall, moving to where her foothold was and lowering herself slowly, yet with great expertise. She was 10 summers, 'too old for climbing,' her mother would insist. But she couldn't help it. 10 summers and she had never been outside of the the walls of the city. The _least_ she could do would be to look at it.

The second her feet touched the ground, her mother snatched her wrist, leading her back towards the castle gates, furious, lecturing her for skipping her dance classes, _furious_ that she was making it so difficult. "Your Pa did _not _save us from a dragon and become King of Dale to have you refuse the finery we never had," she snapped, pulling her through the gates and into the castle grounds. "We have visitors from Gondor and you are _filthy_ from those walls!"

"But _Ma!_" She whined again. "Why can't I even _look_ at the other cities? I want to go out there so _badly_ and cousin Bra-"

"_Milandy,_" she hissed when they arrived in the great foyer. Coming to a sudden halt, her mother looked as though she was about to shout, but instead took a deep breath, closing her eyes and finding her center as the King entered the foyer, watching the two. If Milandy's mother was sure of this or not, she didn't know. "Milandy," her mother repeated, noticeably calmer as she turned to her, kneeling down to her eye level, "you are a _Lady_ of Dale, and you are my _only child._" She gave pause, smiling gently at her as she reached out and wiped a smudge of dirt from her daughter's nose. "My little Lady," she remarked, before giving an exhale. "Now that Arsilda is married and gone, you are the _last_ of your Pa's little Ladies, and it is not safe for you outside those walls. Lots of people would want to hurt you."

"But if Uncle Bain and Cousin Brand go, why can't I go with them?" Milandy asked, pouting. "_They'd_ protect me."

"Milandy, I promise you that when you are of age, I will find you a good man to marry who will take you to a far off land and treat you like spun gold," she assured her, "but until then, we must keep you safe and make sure that you learn everything you need."

"But I don't _want_ to learn to dance," she groaned, her mother giving a click of the tongue and shaking her head as she rose. "I don't _care_ if it's part of being a lady."

"It's not just a woman's burden to dance," another voice laughed, older, gravely but warm. King Bard approached, smiling at the youngest of his grandchildren. "Even _men_ must learn to dance." He had a special fondness for her, partly because she was youngest, but also because she was so much trouble. He had, in a way, stepped in when a fever took her father, but she was also the last of his granddaughters. Bain's daughter, Arsilda, had married one of the princes of Dol Amroth two summers ago.

Milandy had never been like Arsilda, and she knew she never would be. Arsilda was beautiful, with the raven hair of their grandfather and the bright smile and clear, milky skin of her aunts, her voice beautiful and her manner gentle. Milandy, on the other hand, had the rusty hair of her father, along with his freckles and cheeks. In fact, she hardly bore resemblance to the family of Bard the Bowman at all spare for her eyes, which were almost identical to those of her grandfather, or her nose, which he often insisted was her grandmother's. Her nature, however, was a different story. If there was anything that proved her lineage, it was Milandy's nature. She was _trouble, _as were the rest of the boys in the family.

"Pa," she whined, turning to her grandfather, who had an entertained smile on his face. "Tell Ma that I don't need to learn to dance. Please?"

He shook his head, reaching down to scruff her hair, which caused her mother to give him a look of frustration. "If you don't learn to dance, what will you do to avoid talking to people at parties?"

"I won't go to any parties," Milandy insisted, crossing her nose and turning her nose up. "_I'm_ going to become a Knight like Cousin Bjern."

"Are you?" The King gave a smirk, joining her in crossing his arms. "No," he said after a pause. "You'd make no Knight." He waited specifically for Milandy to open her mouth in protest before he spoke again. "You have the skills of a bowman! Yes. _Milandy the Bowwoman._ I like the sounds of that."

She gave a gasp, bunching the fabric of her skirts in her hands, her eyes lighting up at this. "You mean like the elven bowwoman?!" She asked.

He gave a nod, ignoring the exacerbated sighs of her mother as he put a hand to her shoulder. "Your Uncle is in the archery range right now. Go to him and tell him that the King wishes Milandy the Bowwoman to train today."

Without so much as a word, Milandy lifted her skirts and sprinted from the foyer and towards the range, leaving her Grandfather laughing to himself as he noticed the frustration on her mother's face. "You spoil her," she cautioned, "soon she will no longer be a child and she will have to give up these games, you know."

"Games?" He asked. "They are not games to her." He shook his head dismissively, clicking his tongue. "Let the girl train as her cousins do. It would not hurt for her to know her way around a blade."

"She is my only child, Da," she argued. "I will not have her miss out on what I did."

"You regret your childhood, then, Sigrid?" He asked. He watched her carefully before she relented, shaking her head.

"No. It is… Da, you wanted great things for us. She is my child. I only want what is best for her. Surely you understand."

Bard gave a nod, linking arms with his youngest daughter, who began to lead him to one of the balconies, walking slowly. He was well for his age, yes, but even with his health, he was still an old man. "If I could have done it, I would have had the three of you living this very life of finery from the moment you were born," he began, closing his eyes as they entered the summer air. "But where you are happy in fine clothes and a castle, perhaps she is happy playing in the dirt."

"I was speaking to the Gondorian diplomats yesterday," Sigrid began as they approached the balcony ledge. "The Steward has two sons, neither betrothed." She gave a small smile as she looked out over the view of the kingdom and into the Lonely Mountain. "If our relationship with Gondor remains as is, he has said there would be good prospects of a match."

Bard raised an eyebrow, looking to his daughter. "I'm telling you that Milandy wants to play in the dirt and you're talking about marrying her to a Steward of _Gondor?_" He scoffed, shaking his head as he looked away. "If you _must_ arrange a marriage for her, try and find her something…." he paused, musing for a moment. "Why not one of the Rohirrim?" He asked. "King Theoden has a son. Older than her, but not so much as to make it inappropriate."

"The Rohirrim?" She asked. "Send her to the Horse Lords? I am trying to keep her safe, Da."

"They aren't savages," he sighed. "Far from it, Sigrid. They are a noble people. You know that." He paused and smirked to himself, taking his turn to look over his kingdom. "Why, it seems like just yesterday you were 16 and _begging_ me to introduce you to one of the Captains of the Mark…"

"Yes. Exactly. I was _16._ I knew no better." She rolled her eyes, shaking her head from frustration, although Bard could tell she was stifling a smile of embarrassment.

"She would be safe in Rohan, but they do not clip their women's wings," he explained, "and you will learn as she grows that there is nothing more frightening than a dragon that is bored. Why even arrange a match? Let the girl marry for love."

Sigrid tossed her head back, something that was almost a groan escaping her mouth. "_Again_ with the dragon talk?" She asked. "You have to stop referring to her like that, Da, you're making her think her temper is okay." After a moment, she shook her head. "I will push for her to find a match in Gondor so I know that she is taken care of."

"You are her mother," Bard sighed, giving a shrug, "and like _your_ mother, I will not interfere with the women's business you share… but I would hope," he warned, catching her eyes with his, "that you remember that we are from a line of risk takers and story tellers. _Safe _may not always be best."

* * *

Milandy began to rouse, her eyes heavy, feeling as though they were full of sand. He mouth was dry, her throat sore, her arm bound for some reason. When her vision returned enough to make out her surroundings, she looked downward, her chest giving a mighty ache as her neck moved. Her arm was bound by a sling, her shoulder wrapped tight in bandages.

She wriggled to try and sit up in her bed, but as soon she she tried activating any of the muscles in her core, her side gave a sharp and quick pull, the pain enough for her to cry out. As her face contorted, it _too_ felt a great pain, across her nose, where she'd been slashed at by an opponent before.

Desperate for some sort of idea what was happening, she looked around. She was in a room alone, in a bed, surrounded by women, one who immediately ran to her to place pillows behind her back to hold her up. The others just seemed to stare at her in shock and fear, as the eldest took one aside and walked her to the door.

"Go and tell the men to send for the King of Gondor immediately," the woman ordered the young woman. "His healing hands are needed. Then, you are to have someone send for the King of the Mark and tell him that the Queen of the Mark has awoken, understand me?"

The girl gave a nod, opening the door and lifting her skirts from the floor so as to sprint away, her eyes wide, almost panicked with the task she had been given. Milandy froze completely, her jaw set apart, her breathing speeding up in her confusion. "Queen of the Mark?" She asked.

"Your Highness," the older woman began, approaching her bedside, Milandy's chest tightening at the mention of that title, "King Theoden was taken in battle. Your husband is now King, making you Queen of the Mark and Rohan."

Queen of the Mark.

Queen of _Rohan._


	20. King and Queen of Rohan

When Aragorn entered her chambers, the women scurried from Milandy's side to make way for him, purpose in his movements. Milandy had not been faring well, the pain in her side causing her to writhe in pain, although she did not cry out. She refused to. Did Queens wail in pain? Maybe. But she was Queen of Rohan, no other Kingdoms or lands, and she was determined to be known for her strength, the same strength of the Horse Lords.

"Where is the wound?" He asked one of the ladies who had stayed beside her, but before she could respond, Milandy lifted the undershirt from her side to just below her breast, not caring for modesty. Aragorn ran his fingertips around the edges of the wound, examining the skin carefully. "It is inflamed," he observed. "I will need to cleanse it, or it will fester." He turned to one of the nearby women, listing herbs and supplies he would need. "Make sure the water is _hot,"_ he stipulated. "Not warm. And have these women leave. We will not need them. Yourself and another shall suffice."

The woman spoke some words to the others in a tongue that was foreign to Milandy, and like that, all but one left, the oldest woman rushing away to get the things Aragorn had asked of her. He gently pressed the skin down around her wound, checking to see if it would weep, and Milandy finally gave in, letting out a low growl of pain. "It will hurt less once it is clean," he assured her." He moved his arm away, but Milandy reached out, grabbing it.

"Eowyn," she asked, her voice shaking. "Is she…."

He eyed her cautiously for a second before giving her a nod. "She is injured, but she is well." he paused, shooting her a smile. "She has slain the Witch-king. For all her injuries, she has found the glory she sought."

Milandy finally found something to smile about, even as her side burned and her shoulder stung. The older of the women finally returned, a tray of what he'd asked for and a kettle of water hanging from her free arm. She set them down on a small table beside Aragorn and he began to dampen a rag. "This will hurt," he warned her, holding the rag inches from her skin, awaiting her approval.

"Perhaps," the elder woman began, "we should seek some milk of the poppy for her pai-"

"Do it," Milandy ordered, her fingers gripped to the sheets in anticipation. Aragorn gave a nod, beginning to douse the wound in the boiling water as Milandy let out stifled groans of pain from between gritted teeth. Once the wound was flooded, he began to wipe it clean, and although his movements were thorough and caused her to throw her head back and finally give in to a cry of agony, his touch was still gentle, one that assured her of his care. The wound was large, running from her hip to midway up her ribs, and clearing it of all dirt and shrapnel was no easy feat.

Eventually, he paused, his eyes thinning, closing in on a spot by one of her ribs. "The tip of this blade broke," he announced. "Sharpened bone. It must be removed." He braced one hand around the top of her wound, pulling the skin taut as Milandy gave a sharp gasp. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," she hissed, and with that, he moved his fingers into the wound, taking hold of the broken shard of blade. Milandy buried her head into the pillow, trying her best to muffle a scream as he removed it, the barbed edging causing her nothing short of agony.

Eventually, though, she heard the clink of it being dropped into a bowl, and the pain, while not subsiding entirely, instantly felt more bearable. She gave a long exhale, taking deep breaths as she came down from the searing fire in her side and Aragorn began to press herbs to the wound, another dampened piece of rag over it. He laid his hands upon the wound, chanting something, Milandy wasn't sure what, but she decided the words he spoke were not for her, but for someone or something else.

The pain eventually subsided, and as he removed his hands, Milandy thought the pain might return - however, it did not, remaining at a mild ache. She wondered if the herbs had numbed the pain, or perhaps it was whoever he had appealed to. She would probably never know, but she was more grateful to him than she had been to anyone in a long time.

"Bind her around the waist as tightly as you can without causing her discomfort," he instructed the elder woman, removing the rag and the herbs, cleaning the surface of the wound a final time. "If the wound does not begin to set tomorrow, it will need to be seared." Carefully, he guided her to roll onto her back, helping her to sit up.

"I do not even remember being struck there," Milandy commented, finally able to speak as normal, the pain not impairing her mind.

"Many of the greatest wounds are ones we do not feel," he explained, taking her by the chin and turning her face to his, inspecting the cut that ran across her nose and down her cheek. "It is the body allowing us to keep fighting… hmmm. I'm sorry, I think it will scar."

She gave a shrug as he let go, moving to examine her shoulder now. "It is small. I'm sure I will manage…" Milandy sat in silence, trying to allow him to work in peace, but unable to hold her curiosity. "How is everyone else? Was anyone from your party injured?"

Instantly, his eyes flickered from her shoulder and up to her, but only for a second. He waved for the two remaining women to leave, the both of them rushing to oblige as he continued to re-wrap the bandages, tighter now, but in a way that allowed for more movement on her part. "Legolas did not take a single blow," he informed her once the doors of her chamber were closed. "He is well, if not overly proud of his achievements on the field." He gave an exhale as he secured them, tying a knot so they would not come undone. "Your _husband_, however, lost the man he saw as his father and came close to losing his sister." Milandy flinched a little at his words, his tone stern.

"Aragorn…" she began, not sure where to go from there. Luckily, she didn't need to continue.

"I will not attempt to instruct your heart, Milandy. The condition of your arrangement with Theoden and Eomer is no secret to me, and for what it's worse, I cannot imagine a fate worse on the heart." He sat upright now, looking to her as to speak with her frankly. "But I know what awaits those who take a path shared by elves and men."

"How?"

He studied her face cautiously. "It will become clear in time, but know that elves do not take matters of the heart as lightly as men. Much of it is undoable."

Milandy looked downward, the pain in her side seeming pale in embarassment to how her face flushed with shame. "Please, do not… say anything."

"I am of good faith that you conduct yourselves with honor. I would expect nothing less of Legolas, but it would be nice, perhaps, for Eomer, if you gave him your time tonight." He noticed Milandy's face began to shift into one of distaste. "I mean only to give him company as you would a friend. The Rohirrim plan to celebrate victory tonight, and it will be the first he has left Eowyn's side. I am sure it would mean much to him to have his men see his wife beside him."

* * *

"And there she is," Eomer laughed over the sound of the men shouting as they drank when she entered the hall, clad in a dress of finery borrowed from one of the Ladies who resided in Minas Tirith, "my wife! Queen of the Mark!" As Milandy took a seat by him, she resisted the urge to roll her eyes in disdain. Not that she hated the idea of being Queen, but rather that this sudden fondness for her seemed theatrical to her. Like a show. Once he was sure they weren't being intently listened to, he leaned in, speaking as softly as he could without being drowned out by the drunken shouting and music. "You are good for moral, I will give you that."

Shooting him a glare, Milandy resisted the urge to slap him. "Need I remind you I went into battle with you?" she hissed. Eomer wasn't intimidated or even surprised by her reaction, however, instead giving a chuckle and resting back into his seat.

"And that is exactly the reason the men are so fond of you, " he explained. "The image of the future Queen of the Mark riding into battle with her husband and his army to fight beside them in the battle that took the King from them? It's very stirring." He paused, tilting his head to them as they broke out in song. "Listen."

Although the men were drunken and many slurred, the words of their song were clear:

_"Oh the battle maiden rode to war,_

_Upon her husband's horse,_

_Her hair like flames of Mordor,_

_And her temper the same, of course!_

_The don't make them like that down here,_

_The girls who hail from Dale,_

_The battle Queen of Rohan,_

_As strong as any male!_

_May she lead us to victory,_

_And we'll defeat the black,_

_And should the good King do her wrong,_

_The King should watch his back!"_

The men gave a drunken cheer and lifted their flagons once more, drinking it all back in celebration. Milandy shifted in her seat, not sure how to react. "But..." she spoke eventually, taking the cut that had been placed in front of her, sensing she would need the wine. "Eowyn performed far greater feats than I. She is a hero. All I did was ride on the back of your horse for a few moments and warned the men of the eastern arrows."

"Don't worry," he said, smiling as he watched the men continue their celebrations. "They sing songs of her as well. But they saw you. They bore witness to you." He gave a shrug, pausing for a mouthful of his drink. "The sight of a woman such as yourself commanding men into battle for the glory of Rohan is... Stirring."

"Such as myself?" She asked.

He shrugged once more, a mischievous smile on his face this time. "They're men." Milandy couldn't help but wince a little, the look on her face sending Eomer into a full, haughty spat of laughter. "You are a well built woman," he said as his laughter eventually calmed. "Do not think more into it than that, it's something objective. Even Eowyn would agree if I were to ask"

"How is she?" Milandy asked, desperate to change the subject. "I have had little chance to see her since she has awoken."

"She is well," he nodded, setting down his flagon. "Her wounds are healing, but her mind is..." he frowned. "She is plagued by nightmares."

"Aren't we all?" She asked, not wanting Eomer to feel his uncle's refusal to let Eowyn enter battle was justified. "I have witnessed you stir many times in the night."

For a moment, Eomer was silent, his eyes downwards in thought, and Milandy worried that she had offended him. Eventually, though, he looked up at her, his face softened, not mad. "And I have witnessed you do the same." He paused, shifting in his seat. "How do you fair?" he asked.

Milandy gave a dismissive shrug, resting her fingers ever so gently on her collar bone. "I have a broken bone, a wound in my side and my face will scar, but I am alive."

"A scar?" he asked, giving an impressed nod. "A mark of glory in battle. Good thing, too," he smirked, "you were too pretty. I worried my men would leave for Dale seeking women."

She raided an eyebrow, glancing between the flagon and Eomer. "Look at that, a few ales and you almost become bearable."

"Perhaps you should take to drinking more," Eomer suggested, nodding to her cup. "It is nice when you smile, and you do not do so often enough."

"I was hardly put on this earth to be pretty," she warned him as she reached out for the cup anyway, realizing he was probably right and that she could definitely use a drink right now. Her shoulder ached and her side still stung, and she was admittedly feeling a bit out of place not being as at ease as everyone else in that hall. Taking a sip, she watched the men as they cheered their fallen comrades and celebrated their slain foes. She couldn't help but feel pride to have been a part of such a victory.

It was as she swallowed her mouthful of wine that it hit her - these were no longer men she fought beside. These were her men now. She was their Queen now, and the shouting, slightly drunk Horse Lord besides her was their King. This was responsibility on a whole new level, beyond anything she could have dreamed, despite how her mother would joke of marrying her to a Gondoran heir to make her a true Lady. No, this was something else entirely. Panicked by her epiphany, Milandy didn't lower her cup once, getting the wine down her throat as quickly as possible. Once she was done, Eomer gave a laugh and slapped her on the back before she could even set it down. "Fetch the Queen another!" He shouted, grinning, "she wishes to join us!"

Milandy found herself becoming more and more nervous as she came to realize that none of her usual companions were celebrating with her. Legolas was nowhere to be seen, nor Aragorn or Gimli or any of the Hobbits and Gandalf. With each cup, she worried more. Had they gone elsewhere and left her behind? Perhaps they thought she was injured. Or, maybe, perhaps they felt it was no right to bring her along now that she was Queen.

The more Milandy thought about this, the more bitter it felt and the more it weighed on her mind. She continued to drink, and even joined her husband and their valiant men in song and cheer, but the thought of it still stung at her. Legolas wouldn't leave without her, or perhaps he would. But surely he would have told her first. Surely he would have said goodbye. But then again, if anyone knew how stubborn she was, it was him, and he knew better than anyone that if he told her they were leaving, she'd refuse anything but to join them.

With each cup of wine, Milandy became more and more fixated on it. She wasn't sure if she was hurt, angry or - as time passed and the drink began to take hold on her - if she was actually content. She was Queen now. Queen. Of the Mark! She would never want for anything again, and once this war was over she could live her life in contentment. She may not have had the Ring, and she may not have had that bow, but would she really need them now? Wasn't this the goal? A life of ease and comfort?

A time came during the celebrations where the men began to sing a song of the mighty dragon of the North, and Milandy found herself singing along, well versed with the song of her grandfather's victory against the beast that had brought Dale to ruin before Laketown was built. She thought back on Grandfather Bard, of her Pa. Her mother had tried so hard to ensure she was raised a lady, a delicate thing, pretty and meek, everything her mother hadn't been as a child - but her Pa? Not he. While her mother protested and shouted for her to come down from her climbing, or to stop playing with her Uncle's bow, Grandfather Bard would laugh._ "You forget all too well that you weren't always proper,"_ he'd tell her mother, the youngest of his three children,_ "I still remember you gazing into the toilet, wondering if dwarfs would climb out of these ones."_ Of course, it would always end the same, her mother trying to lecture him on how much better their lives were now, on how he would have wished the same luxuries Milandy had for her as a child - and Grandfather Bard would always reply the same thing: _"That girl has the fire of a dragon in her. Trust me, I would know it."_

She wondered if he had any idea what she'd become, that she'd leave Dale behind once he'd left the mortal life. Pa didn't want her quashed, she knew that, but she could never decide if he would have wanted her to leave Dale, especially the way she did. Under the cloak of night, dressed as a boy, climbing over the wall of the palace with a sword on her belt on a bow on her back. Her uncle did not stop her. In fact, she could have sworn she'd seen a smile as she scrambled away. He'd never sent a search party for her, he'd never placed a bounty on her, either, and given the way her mother would have insisted on both of those, Milandy could only assume he'd silently approved.

And as her husband proudly slung his arm around her, joining her in singing of the legends of her ancestors, Milandy felt homesick for the first time in many Summers. Of course, she would never admit it, and even if someone could have guessed how she felt, she would have only admitted to feeling an inkling of that - but she missed her homeland. She missed the many walls to climb, the many streets and alleyways and little shops tucked away as though they were secrets. She missed the way the Lonely Mountain had looked as the sun would set, and the way the lake that her Grandfather his children once resided upon glistened with the sunrise.

Eventually, though, once the celebration had mulled, they retired, Eomer and Milandy making their ways to the guest chambers that had been prepared to them. Milandy realised this would be the first time they spent a night sharing anything but a tent. If they had really been in love, that surely would have been cause for celebration on its own. "I am so excited to sleep in a bed," Milandy began as he opened the door, gesturing for her to enter first. She couldn't help but think he was much more pleasant in this mood. Perhaps in another life, she could come to love him if he always behaved with such a light heart. "I was growing so tired of the cots and tents."

"Where do you normally sleep, sellsword?" He asked, closing the door behind them. "I had imagined you'd usually make camp on your journeys."

She gave a shrug, sitting on the bed, relishing in the softness of it. An actual bed! "I would camp, but I was smart," she lied, "I often planned my journeys around inns."

"Inns?" He snorted, "a sellsword insisting on the comfort of an inn bed?" He smirked at her, approaching the bedside table, taking a jug of water and beginning to pour it into a cup. "I suppose you did grow up in court, though."

"Perhaps that's why," she agreed. "Although it's probably one of the few things I missed."

"What was it like?" He asked her earnestly, even though weary from drink. "Dale? The North?"

With fondness, she smiled as she slipped off her shoes. "On the clearest of the summer days, the lake below would be perfectly clear, and you could see the Lonely Mountain perfectly within the reflection. Sometimes, I could not tell where the sky would end and the lake would begin, or I would struggle to see which Mountain was reflection and which was real." She paused, looking forward at nothing particular, just remembering. "And sometimes, on the border walls, you would hear the woodland elves sing as they came to trade, and it was so beautiful that the first time I heard it I was terrified that the Valar had come to strike me down for climbing walls against mother's wishes. Once a year you could see fireworks and great smoke coming from the Lonely Mountain, and you could hear the Dwarves singing a song of the mountain, even from within the walls, and it was haunting and echoed in your heart."

She fell silent, expecting him to speak, but when she looked up to face him, she realised he was listening to her intently. "It sounds a beautiful place," he finally remarked, sitting beside her on the bed, hunching over slightly and resting his elbows on his knees, not taking his eyes from her. "Why did you leave?"

"When Pa- er," she corrected herself, "when Grandfather Bard passed, I became closer to the throne. I was now the niece of the King, not the Granddaughter. So, naturally, my mother began talking of marrying me."

"As most mothers would for their daughters," he commented. She gave a nod.

"In hindsight she meant well, I know that now, but at 16 summers few children understand their parents often want best for them." She gave a soft smile when he laughed in agreement. "I mean," she began, shifting, "she told me she had written to Gondor requesting the Steward's son pay us visit. Gondor! I was 16 summers and all I wanted was to climb walls and explore and sword fight with my cousins and ride horses, and she was talking of sending me away one day to Gondor to marry and look pretty. So I ran away."

"And yet," he teased, "here you sit with your husband in the guest chambers of Minas Tirith."

Milandy rolled her eyes. "The irony is hardly lost on me, believe me." She glanced down at her hands, fidgeting with her nails. "Pa told me many stories growing up, of dragons and dwarfs and the forests of Mirkwood, and every birthday he would give me a new book telling tales of far off places. I wanted to see them, but despite my age and naievity I knew, or thought my mother would have search parties sent for me. So I made my way East, as far as I could go alone."

"And then what?" He asked. "What happened when you reached the border?"

"I stayed there for two Summers, refining what skills I had, learning Eastern styles of battle, passing in and out of the East." Milandy neglected to mention that her work within the actual East itself was less along the lines of sellsword work and more along the lines of smuggling. "After that, I knew enough to travel alone, so left for Bree. After that? I went where work was." She looked up to him again, smiling. "This is not my first time in the lands of Gondor."

"You have led a life of stories, that is a definite," he finally admitted, smiling. "I do not wish you to think that I will confine you when this war ends. You may continue your adventures." As Milandy's face lit up, he raised a hand, gesturing for her to refrain from speaking just yet. "On one condition."

Her face sank suddenly. "Condition?" She asked, her voice laced with suspicion, an eyebrow raised. "What kind of condition?"

"I ask that you return to Dale one day, and that I come with you," he proposed, smiling. "After hearing you speak of it, I would like to see it myself.

Genuinely touched, Milandy nodded, beaming. It was almost as if he could tell how homesick she'd felt that night, as though he were in tune with her. "Of course," she said, so quietly is could have been mistaken for a whisper. "I would love for you to see it."

They smiled at eachother for a moment, perhaps longer than was appropriate as they searched each other's eyes, before get broke the silence, standing from the bed. "We should rest. There is still a war to fight, and I do not doubt we will be required in the morning."

A kind of ritual had formed between the two when it came time for them to retire for the night. While Milandy hardly cared for modesty as much as most women, Eomer still wished to provide her the courtesy of it, which she did appreciate. He would sit on his side of the bed, his back turned to her as she undressed to her underclothes, and would wait until she was well covered by the blankets of the bed to prepare himself for the night, during which she would be attempting to sleep, her eyes closed and her back turned to him.

So, Eomer took his regular position on the bed, slipping off his boots as Milandy reached back for the tie at the top of her dress. A sharp pain ran through her shoulder, her collarbone feeling as though it was a dagger, and she gave a loud yelp, the buzz of all the wine she'd taken that night making the pain a great surprise to her. She glanced to Eomer, who had instinctively turned to face the sound, a look of concern on his face. "What is wrong?" He asked.

"My..." she winced as she lowered her arm back down, the ache continuing. "...My shoulder." Casually and without a second thought, she used her head to gesture back to the tie. "Would you do me a favor and just... untie it for me? I cannot reach it and I'd hate to wake one of the ladies at this time of night."

He gave her a nod, apparently thinking nothing of it until it actually came to to untying it for her. His hands touched her where the fabric of the collar of her dress met her skin, where the tie sat, and he hesitated for a moment, Milandy feeling suddenly tense at his touch. Carefully, he took the ribbons of the tie in his fingers and pulled at them, unravelling the knot one of the ladies had put it in. This caused the dress to automatically come loose at the shoulders, falling from them, Milandy pressing the fabric of it against her chest to keep the dress up. She would have thought little of this had he turned and left her there to go about herself, but she felt her core tense when his fingers trailed over her injured shoulder, stopping where the bandage sat.

"It blackens," he commented, his voice the softest she had ever heard. "A break?"

"The healer said so, yes," she nodded, not daring to turn to face him.

"I am sorry you were injured," he exhaled, making Milandy realize that he was so close she could actually feel his breath. "You should have never been tied to this war. It was never yours to fight."

"Sauron threatens the North as well," she replied. "His armies took my Uncle from us. It .is as much my war as yours." She paused, her fingers rolling the fabric of her dress between them. "I am sorry that you had to enter this marriage," she finally said, "you are a good man. You deserve a marriage you desire, not one of political convenience. I know I am not what you imagined."

"I doubt I nor anyone could imagine you, no matter how they might try," he laughed before giving a pause. "But you are not so bad," he began, gently turning her to face him, looking her in the eye as though to make a point. "You show great spirit. You are a woman of loyalty, valor and bravery beyond most men." He gave her a fond smile, lifting a hand to tap her under the chin. "It is as though you were built from the fire of the dragon your Grandfather slayed."

Milandy knew she should have looked away from his eyes, that she should have broken the mood with a joke or even an insult, or that she should have just pulled away from him. But when enough time passed between them that the once teasing gesture of his fingers lifting her chin had become something else, something intimate, she couldn't move from him. She wasn't sure why, perhaps it was the stress of the battle passed, perhaps it was the wine - it was probably the wine, actually - but her mind was almost devoid of thought as he breath became short and gentle, the distances between their faces closing as his fingers moved from her chin, grazing up her jaw and holding her just beneath her ear. She thought, perhaps, that this was strange and almost forbidden fruit for the both of them, given the way she felt his breath against her lips long before his grazed against hers,

The King and Queen of the Mark, married for a week, shared their first kiss that night.

* * *

_I don't always end my chapters on cliff hangers, but when I do, they involve Horse Lords. Thanks again to everyone who's subscribed and read, and keep the reviews coming because it always means SO MUCH to me to read them! Kind of tempted to give out my twitter details or something so I can catch up with you guys in the real internet space but eehhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I like anonymity. ;) Let me know, though!_


	21. Dale is Burning

She was buzzing. Her head, her body, every part of her, buzzing. Floating. He was everything that she would find desirable, everything she wanted once. His hand moved further back, sitting now at the back of her neck, giving them leverage to deepen the kiss. She gripped onto his shirt – her head was full of wine, and she wanted him _so_ badly because he was all she had at that very moment and-

"No," she murmured, opening her hand and pushing away at his chest, quickly, but gently. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "No."

"Is something wrong?" He asked her, Milandy only responding by stepping away, still clutching to her gown, shaking her head. He watched her for a moment in complete silence, Milandy's gaze rising to meet his, unsure as to how he would react. "That didn't feel right to you, either, did it?" he asked.

"No," she looked away again, her face flushed, ashamed of herself. "It didn't."

He nodded, stepping back and moving for the opposite side of the bed to hers. "I agree," he finally relented. "Not that you..." he frowned, searching for the words. "Not that I don't find you... _agreeable_... but... we..."

"The drink," Milandy interrupted, her voice laced with nervous laughter. "We must not rush into things because of drunkenness," she explained, knowing fully well that wasn't the reasoning at all. Or, for _her_ at least.

"You are correct," he agreed, moving under the covers of the bed, his back turning to her. "We are bound to eachother for life. We must be careful where we tread."

"Indeed." She waited until he was settled, making sure his back was turned to her before she removed the dress, hanging it over a chair and finding her place in her side of the bed in her underclothes. She rolled so her back faced him, and allowed the haze of drink to take her into sleep. It would be just like every other night, she told herself.

* * *

It was _far_ too early, Milandy thought as a knock on their door awoke her. Or at least it felt early. Was it? Milandy's head felt tight, her eyes stinging, her mouth dry. Perhaps she had celebrated too hard. _Nonsense. _If she was Queen of the Rohirrim, she had to _drink_ like the Rohirrim. It would be how she got their respect. Maybe. She assumed it was. That had been what she kept telling herself, anyway.

She gave a groan, shifting in her position, not surprised to find she had shifted from her side in the night. She didn't mind waking up that way, usually, facing Eomer. It meant she could judge how awake he was before she snuck out of bed to dress and leave before he rose. Her eyes still shut, she silently cursed whoever knocked at their door. "What is it?" Eomer's voice groaned, crackling enough that she could tell he was probably feeling as bad as she did, if not worse.

"Your Grace," an unfamiliar voice carefully began, timidness to it. It wasn't one she knew. They'd probably sent some poor chamber maid. "The King has called for a meeting at noon, and has requested your attendance."

He gave a grunt. "And when is that?" He asked. Milandy winced, her eyes shut at his voice. It sounded louder than usual, although the morning after drinking often did that one's hearing. Perhaps he, too, had shifted in the night.

"Three hours, Your Grace. Shall I inform him you'll be attending?"

Eomer gave a grunt of approval, the sound of the door closing following. Milandy felt him give a heavy sigh as he stirred-

She froze.

She _felt_ him give a sigh. Milandy felt him sigh beneath her. That had been the source of the warmth she felt, the reason he felt so loud. It suddenly flooded back to her all at once. That she had tossed in her sleep, that she found he had shifted, and then by its own course it came to be that she settled in his arms, neither of them really _awake,_ her head on his shoulder as he rested his fingers in her hair where the ends met her shoulders. That's where they had stayed.

Her eyes flinging open, she gently – although not without great haste – moved from him, almost stumbling as she moved to climb out of the bed, her body still reeling from the leftovers of the celebrations. She gave a grunt, clinging to the corner post of the bed as she hunched over, her head spinning, her balance not yet returned, the stale feeling in her stomach shifting from uncomfortable to almost unbearable. Milandy gave an almost involuntary groan, one which did _not_ go unnoticed.

"Are you alright?" She heard Eomer ask. Milandy couldn't respond in any other manner than a nod. She heard the blankets of the bed shift, meaning he was moving, meaning he was probably looking at her in her underclothes – and while Milandy didn't exactly _care _so long as she had _any_ clothes on,she didn't want him to get the wrong idea, either. She stepped forward, rushing to get to the riding clothes that had been returned to her at some stage – probably during the previous night while she was celebrating with the men – to dress, but quickly realised she misjudged the extent of how sick she had made herself. She stumbled forward, and although she did not fall, the sudden movement pulled on her side, the binding having loosened in the night. She gave a cry of pain, gripping onto the dresser where her riding clothes were folded, gasping for breath.

She remained there for a few moments, trying to find herself again, but soon felt a hand on her arm. Eomer lifted her arm over his neck and shoulders, using them to bare her weight and help guide her back to the bed, sitting her down on the edge. "Careful," he warned as she settled, rubbing her eyes. He reached out to touch her side and she instinctively slapped his hand away, causing him to give a long sigh. "You might have re-opened the wound. I need to look at it."

Milandy studied his face for a moment, not sure if she should trust him given the position they had woken in, but eventually relented, the pain in her side a harsh reminder of what was to come if the wound didn't set itself. "Fine," she sighed, preferring this to being held down while someone came at her with a hot poker to sear it closed.

He very, very cautiously watched as she lifted her undershirt, revealing the bandage and no more before he began to unwrap it with _great_ delicacy. She clung the hem of the lifted undershirt to herself in a way that secured it to her breasts, her eyes stuck to the wall on the opposite side of the room, her face hot with embarrassment. Eventually, the bandage came off, Milandy unable to resist finding a slight pleasure in the feeling of air touching the skin of her torso despite the Eomer's fingers now grazed over it's exposed flesh. "A small rip. Barely noticeable. Nothing to panic about," he announced, reaching for the unravelled bandage and beginning to bind her once more. Had she not been embarrassed to the point of being unjustifiably angry, she would have been touched by the great care he took to see to her, the passing of the bandage around her torso and tightening of it being nothing short of an effort. Her fondness was fleeting, though, as she soon began to worry that his care for her stemmed from feelings she'd rather he not have. Feeling she'd rather _neither _of them had.

She thought about the night before and felt her chest tighten again. A mistake, one that from an objective view was probably easy to make, but one that shouldn't have happened. Even though he was her husband. The internal battle was probably worse than the guilt. She was married to him, _morally_ it was only right that they began gravitating towards each other. But she didn't love him, she had already made herself clear to someone else. But then again, she wasn't even sure _how_ she felt about Legolas. Did she love him? She was hesitant to make that distinction, but did he love her? At first she assumed not, that it was as regular an attraction as anyone's, but Aragorn's words had stayed with her and caused her worry.

The fact that she even had to deliberate on such things was enough to make her heart heavy with guilt. Who was she to have _this_ much attention lavished on her by men? Why had she not made herself clearer to Eomer? She had obviously done _something_ wrong to come to this point. She wasn't special enough to garner the attentions of two men, she had obviously led _someone_ on.

"Will we discuss it?" he asked suddenly, breaking her thoughts as he secured the binding, moving her hands to pull down her undershirt back over her torso. She thought about this for a moment, unable to look at him, before shaking her head.

"We have a war to fight," she replied, her voice quiet and full of crackles. "That is enough for now."

* * *

_Unfit to battle._

The words floated around in Milandy's head, serving to only make her more furious. She was _not_ too injured to join them at the Black Gate. They would not ride for another day, and if she allowed them to sear the wound in her side, she would be fine to join them. Part of her wondered if they restricted her because she was now Queen, and the more she wondered, the more she was convinced. Wounded _men_ were being permitted to follow, why not her?

She walked around the halls of the keep, trying her best to contain her anger. Where she was aiming to go, exactly, was beyond her, but she kept moving, her thoughts frantic. She was Queen of _Rohan,_ not Queen of The Ladies Who Sat Around While The Boys Had All The Fun.

She passed a room, the door of it ajar, and paused. The room felt... she took a few steps back, peering into it, drawn to it. She could see through the gap in the doorway a table, something round on it, covered by cloth. Milandy quickly looked around, and seeing that no one was watching, gently opened the door enough for her to pass, her curiosity suddenly burning at her. Maybe whatever was under that cloth was precious or valuable. Whatever is was, she _had_ to see it.

She paused in front of the table, her hands settled on the cloth, her fingers gathering the fabric between them as the cloth ever-so-slightly moved from the object beneath it. She gave a shiver, the air electric, excitement running through her, something she couldn't explain. She pulled back and revealed it – a round... something. It was something. Like a crystal, or glass, only full of shadow and mist. What a strange sight, she thought, moving her hands to it. She had expected it to feel heavier as she lifted it, but it was light enough that she didn't struggle. She turned it a few times in her hands, inspecting it. No inscriptions, no marking, nothing.

And then, without warning, the mist within opened up, calling her name, her being drawn to the orb. Breath escaped her, as a voice louder than anything she had ever heard spoke to her, but fragmented, burning, like fire within her mind.

She saw Dale, burning, Orcs and Trolls and other beasts she couldn't name destroying the city, murdering what people it could find. Corpses of man and dwarf alike on the ground, the walls she once climbed as a child crumbling, screams echoing through the alleyways and smoke filling the air. Milandy wanted to scream, but her voice was caught in her throat, overpowered, unable to even let go of the orb as though she was frozen with fear. _"You may save it yet,"_ something spoke to her, although not in the way mortals spoke. She did not hear these words, but she _felt_ them. _"The Ring."_ She then saw Brand, his body lifeless, the sound of weeping and screaming moving through her. Her cousin Brand. Dead. This time, the orb allowed her to scream in horror as she took in the sight of her niece, Tilda, no more than 13 summers now, a knife driven through her chest by some kind of beast, the castle she once called home overrun by beasts, taking to her Grandfather's throne with their hammers.

She did not hear him as he snatched the orb from her, nor did it barely register when he pushed her away, almost throwing her to the ground. Her mind panicking, her heart racing, she watched as Legolas glanced at the orb for a moment before dropping it onto the table, rushing to cover it with its cloth once more. Squeezing her eyes shut, she leaned against the wall, feeling as though a great pain had just run through her, her body shaking, every muscle within her clenching as she gave another scream of agony, one that wax a mixture of pain and anguish. She sank to the floor as he rushed to her, dropping beside her, taking her in his arms and clinging her to him as though with great urgency. "Dale is burning!" She cried, her fists tensing to the point of pain, whatever it was within her now making her nails dig into her palms. "Dale is burning!"

"Shhh," he cooed, trying to calm her as the footsteps of others followed. She tried her best to push him away, to escape from him, but he held her tightly. Looking up, she saw the faces of Aragorn and Gandalf, who looked down at her, their faces confused. This sent her into more of a panic, and she tried desperately to escape Legolas.

"What did you see?" The wizard asked, his usually assuring voice feeling imposing to her in this state, sending another wave of fear through her.

"We have to find The Ring!" She screamed, continuing to struggle, doing everything she could now to escape. Aragorn soon joined Legolas on the floor to restrain her, his way of holding her not so gentle in comparison, pulling her arms behind her and locking them. "It's the only way!"

"The Ring must be destroyed," he reminded her, and although Milandy _knew_ he was merely trying to calm her, to reassure her, anger flowed through her body, almost as though she couldn't control it. Why didn't he want to save Dale? Why wouldn't he let her? She could _easily_ sneak to the mountain. She was the only one agile and smart enough to do that, he knew that. That's why he wouldn't let her.

"Let me go," she growled through her sobs, struggling again and persisting although the wound in her side had long split back open, and her shoulder ached as though there were daggers in it. "I came here for that bow and The Ring and I'm not leaving without them!"

She could feel their expressions change, but her eyes did not move from Gandalf, who suddenly looked as though she had proposed a riddle to him. "You know not of what you speak," he announced.

It was as though she could not control herself anymore, as though the voice from the orb still loomed in her head, controlling her, not letting her stop. "I have desired _nothing_ but that great bow and Ring, I rode to Helm's Deep, I sat by with children and women, I fought Sauron for them and I _will not leave without them, _you _fools._"

"She is mad," a voice from outside gasped, causing Gandalf to gesture for whoever was out there to stop, his palm open to them.

"Not mad. Plagued," he corrected before turning his eyes back to her. "She needs rest."

And with a simple thud of his staff against her skull, rest was what she got.

* * *

_Before you say anything, my canon knowledge isn't the best, so I'm more than aware I probably stuffed something up with the way the Palantir works. But whatever. Yolo Hobbits 420 errday. More Legolas in next chapter, I promise._


	22. Westerling Woman

"You _never_ told me they would kill her!" Milandy shouted, pacing, her face hot with anger and tears, her head throbbing as her feet kicked up the red dirt below them while she paced. "You said no one would get hurt!"

Alchek crossed his arms. He was a large man, and he knew that, at least twice Milandy's stature, and although he knew she would not _dare_ to strike him, he kept his imposing stance. "I meant none of _us._ No one who paid. No one _important._"

"And her?!" She asked, gesturing outwards over their balcony into the city's square, where people gathered, chanting and cheering, awaiting to see the execution of one of the wicked women of their times, an adulteress. "What is Iriath, then?"

He gave a shrug. Alchek liked Milandy, even if she was a little Westerling girl in an Eastern world. She was a good member of his band of thieves. Actually, if he were to be honest, she was the _best._ She was the cleanest, the quickest and always seemed to come out with the most valuable of loot. But he couldn't show her any favouritism, even if he knew that she was well aware of her standing. "Iriath is where she needs to be."

Milandy stopped her pacing, her scarf almost falling from her hair, already uncovering some of the red beneath it. "Where she needs to be?!" She repeated, her mouth agape. "They're going to _stone _her to death_, Arrbab_!" She argued, careful to try and use at least a semblance of respect by retaining his title to them. She paused, pointing towards him, taking a single step in his direction, almost shaking with anger. "You tell me right now, what is worth her life?" She demanded. Milandy had known her mission, one Alchek had solely trusted to her, a highest honour at the time. One that would see them well rewarded. Seduce the eldest son of the Sultan of Harak, and have him cast out his wife in favour of her.

Not a difficult task. The son was young, only of 27 summers, and it was all too easy for a man to accuse his wife of adultery to have a divorce justified. The wife, Iriath, was a kind woman, but their client had a daughter they felt better suited to the future Sultan. Milandy, of course, was under the impression that the worse Iriath would see would be banishment, nothing that would weigh too heavily on her mind. And when it came to the job... well, Milandy was a young woman, lithe and beautiful, with fair skin and light hair – traits considered highly exotic in the East, the same way tan skin and deep, rich hair was in the West. It hardly took much work on her part to pose as the daughter of a dignitary from the West, and even less work to get herself into his chambers.

But now she stood here, crying, furious, nearly unable to contain her own emotions as she heard the chants of the people awaiting to see Iriath meet her death in the city square. "_Why?_" She demanded. "What is this all about?"

Alchek was unmoving, giving a short puff of air, his arms still crossed. "She was our mark," he finally admitted. "The Sultan's son married Iriath for love, getting in the way of an arrangement he's been in since birth. We will be paid enough gold to feed us all for 5 summers and a special blind eye will be turned to our businesses once the girl is dead."

Milandy gave a gasp, her breath shaking, taking two steps back in horror as she clutched the hand she pointed to him with to her chest. Her eyes were wide in terror, and they began to fog over, her body feeling cold, a sweat breaking out. She wanted to scream, but she didn't want to bring undue attention, terrified all of a sudden of her own misdeeds, flooded with guilt. "It..." she finally choked, "it was an assassination. The whole time. You knew." Alchek didn't respond, unwavering, his eyes stuck to her. "I said no assassinations. You knew that was my limit!" Her voice began to raise. "You knew that was the line and you _made me do it anyway!_" Her hands balled into fists by her side, tears once again escaping her eyes, feeling hot against her skin, her face flushing. "You promised that for my loyalty, you would _never_ have me kill for money. You _swore_ it to me!" She shouted. "I did _everything_ you assigned me. I stole holy texts, I burned mansions, I had men _take me as lovers_ if it meant getting the job done and following your orders... and you _broke your oath._" She gritted her teeth, her eyes thinning. "You are a man without honour," she spat. Her eyes met his, holding their gaze, unbreaking as she cursed at him in Katta, the only Eastern language she knew, the one spoken within their band – Alchek's native tongue. "Cakraccha ka anoba adon, da matan aurenku zaikai kamaryadra karnuka maso. Nazagi da ku!"

For the first time in their exchange, he flinched, his eyes flaring with anger at the very, very serious curse. His arms still crossed, Milandy watched as his hands flexed, and was sure he would strike out at her. But he didn't. "I had you do it," he began, his voice unnaturally calm, "because you were the only one capable. Anyone else would have failed. You are the best – which is why I lied to you."

"So you admit it?" She asked, flinching as the crowd gave a roar. They must have been bringing Iriath out. This was it.

"How else would I have gotten you to do it? We could not afford your refusal."

"Yes, we _could_ have!" She argued. "Another band would have taken it up. We could have continued on with-"

"And lose our pride? Lose the gold?" He finally relented and gave a chuckle, an eyebrow raised. "You may be a good thief, Milandy, you may even be the best of our band – but you are still just a silly little Westerling woman."

A chilling scream rang through the city, Milandy turning to look over the wall of Alchek's courtyard, unable to see anything but stones and the waving of arms in cheer in the distance. She looked to him, her eyes wide with dismay. "I go, now. Keep your gold," she shouted, pushing past him, making her way into the alcoves of his house, her calls echoing against the tiles that adorned the walls and floors, "keep your pride, keep it! I will not be a part of this."

"If that is your choice," he called back as she stopped by one of his many, many mirrors, fixing her scarf to drape over her head and conceal her once more, "so be it. But you will become a loose end." She froze. "And you know what we do with loose ends."

"Are you threatening me?" She asked.

"No," he sighed. "I do not threaten. I make promises, and while I may not always be a man of honour, Westerling, you know as well as anyone that I am not a man you wish to gamble with."

For a moment, Milandy almost gave in, toying with the idea of returning to the court yard and apologising for her anger. Perhaps he was right to deceive her. Alchek was a wise man, a great man of many victories.

But when she heard another of Iriath's screams, any thought of that was wiped from her, replaced with a need to cry, scream, throw something, vomit, anything. Disgusting. Milandy had disgusted herself. As she passed through the doorway of his home, she saw a different city. The city that had once offered her freedom offered her _nothing._ She had the illusion of it. She lived the lie of being a free woman, enjoying her gold and drink and parties. But she was never free. She had just been taken in by another master.

Without any hesitation, she found the nearest horse she could, cut it from it's rope and climbed it with one, swift, purposeful moment. Milandy rode towards the gates of the border city, not looking back, galloping as fast as she could in the hope that her guilt would be unable to catch up with her.

* * *

_So, you might notice the description of this story has changed. That's because, on thinking it over, I'm actually about as sure who Milandy's going to end up with as you guys are. I'm just kind of letting this story go wherever it wants at the moment. So there's that. If **you** guys have any suggestions or a case to argue, please, let me know, because I'm as confused as you are. Awkwaaaard._


	23. Liar

She'd lain there awake longer than she cared to admit, afraid to say anything, almost frightened of how the blond figure that sat in wait by her bedside would react. His back turned to her as he read, it was impossible for her to get a read on him.

"Did I really say those things?" She asked after who knows how long, the lack of physical reaction in Legolas indicating that he'd known she was awake for a while now.

"Yes," he replied, closing the book, his back still turned to her. "You did."

There was a silence between them as he turned to her, Milandy unsure what to say, especially when she realised he didn't look mad. No. Anger wasn't the right description. It was something else. Disenchantment, hurt, maybe. "I am sorry," she whispered, her eyes sinking, unable to look him in the eye. "I... can apologise all I like, but it will not repair what I've done."

He gave a nod, exhaling. "You are not wrong," he conceded. "Many feel you have betrayed them."

"And do you?"

He paused, an icy tension between them. "In a way."

"I..." she stopped herself, looking up at him and finding the right words. "I have been dishonest with you, I admit. But once we..." His eyes caught hers and she found herself lost in her own words for a second. "I did not intend for that to happen, and I was never dishonest in my feelings for you."

He eyed her for a second, setting the book down on the bedside table. "They have spoken to Eomer. What else have you not told us?" He asked. He watched her reaction, a look of guilt overcoming her. "The more we know, the less assumptions will have to be made."

Milandy gave a nod, reaching up to the head of the bed and dragging herself up to sit up against the pillows, the pain still in her side. Her wound had indeed re-opened. "I was never a sellsword," she began, speaking slowly and quietly. "I left Dale with little but my skills, and they were those of a thief. I was agile, I could move in shadows... so, naturally I became... a thief. I joined a group of bandits and we robbed our way to the East."

"And what did you do in the East?" He asked her. Milandy flinched a little at this. They now fought the Easterlings. This would determine is she were a spy or not.

"I took work. There is much call for shady dealings on the border. Smuggling, forging, robbery, grifting..." she paused, taking a deep breath, "...spying." That word almost seemed to bounce and echo off the walls, a specific kind of weight attached to it. "There are many Sultans and men of status in the East who need all sorts of services."

"And then you left," he added. "Why?"

Milandy froze. The reasons for her leaving were... not something she wished to share. She was ashamed of her lies and her dishonest motivations, yes. But... no. That wasn't something she wanted to share. She looked up at him, catching his glance, not breaking her sight. "I will have you know that I did not leave to spy or scout or for any other disingenuous reasons," she explained. "I left my life in the East when I rode to Bree, and I have had no desire to return to it or reforge the kinship I made there." Milandy's tone had changed to match his, one of distrust, of formality, almost.

"And after that?" He finally asked.

"I did many things, all kinds of trades. I did _some_ sellsword work, not enough to really boast about. I robbed trade caravans, stole, schemed... but I never killed," she added. "Not for money."

"What where you doing when we first met with you?" He asked.

Milandy couldn't help but scoff at this, despite knowing what a mistake it was given the trouble she was in. "Oh, _do_ be serious," she began with a roll of her eyes, feeling a little angered. "I was hunting. You know _exactly_ what I was doing." She paused. "You saw me before I even knew you were there, remember?"

He shifted in his seat, moving his gaze away from her for the first time, the sight of which sent a feeling of something through her. Guilt? Hurt? Shame? Something. But it wasn't good. "Was that when you decided to steal my bow from me?" He asked.

She felt her throat tighten, like something was lodged in there, and instinctively she began to chew on the inside of her lip. All she could manage was to nod, watching as he glanced up to view her reaction. With shakey breath, she spoke quickly, as though afraid she wouldn't be able to speak otherwise. "My feelings for you were not a scheme, please, you must believe me. I would _never_ lie about such things."

"And you decided to seek the Ring when?" He asked, not acknowledging her pleas.

She hesitated for a moment, resisting her usual urge to lie her way out of this. "...When you told me the story of the ring. On the hill. The night I told you of my lineage."

The silence that followed was one with such weight to it that Milandy couldn't help but to let her tears build up, although too proud to wipe them away herself. Eventually, he exhaled, shaking his head. "You say you would not lie about such matters, but you would lie about wanting to stay and ride to battle for the honour of your lineage." With a quickness and a lack of warmth that felt even sharper than the pain in her side, he stood from his seat, striding to the door, not so much as looking at her as he shook his head. "And you would think me naive enough to keep my trust invested."

With that, he was gone, the door shutting, the sound of the wood hitting stone echoing through her chamber. She could hear murmurs outside, something of sending for healers, but nothing that she wished to hear. Nothing of Legolas trusting her, nothing of anyone believing her.

For the first time since she had left Dale, Milandy had been caught red handed.

* * *

_Really short chapter this time, sorry! Next one will be fuller. Promise. Remember to let me know who you think suits Milandy best because I can't pick, but I'm biased, really, haha._


	24. As I Know You

No one had come to visit her spare for Eowyn, who had brought her food and sat beside her bed, almost as though nothing had happened. Milandy was unsure if she was being polite in her pleasantries, or if war had changed her, but their conversation stuck to the easy subjects. How she found Gondor and its customs. How Milandy's hair looked now it was short. How Eowyn's health was.

After an hour of struggling to discuss anything but the obvious, Milandy couldn't take anymore, deciding there was little more damage she could possibly do. "Have you seen Eomer recently?" She asked, pausing to wait for Eowyn to give a nod. "How angry was he with me?"

Eowyn showed a small discomfort, although not as much as Milandy had expected - Eowyn was a smart woman and probably saw it as inevitable. "He is…" Eowyn shifted a little. "Conflicted."

"Conflicted?" She was surprised. She'd expected him to be furious.

"My brother says he suspected you weren't as noble as you claimed when you first met… and if there's anything he enjoys, it's when he's right about something. But," she added, a tiny little smile at the corner of her mouth, barely noticeable, "I don't think him angry. At first he was, they all were… but you have brought us no harm, and you have yet to betray us." Eowyn brushed a lock of her long, blonde hair behind her ear as she spoke, something almost… uncharacteristically _girlish_ about her movements, Milandy thought. "I had given you chance to take leave at Helm's Deep. Yet you stayed. And though he may deny it when I ask him, I think my brother grows fond of you. You rode into battle with him, and his men admire you. He held you in great esteem."

"You rode into battle, too," Milandy reminded her. "You slayed the _Witch-King._ I may as well have been sewing in comparison." Eowyn gave a shrug, looking out the window for a moment, her eyes softened. Milandy could see something different in her. Eowyn was once full of defiance and frustration, but the woman who sat in front of her? Calm. Content. "Did Slaying the Witch-King douse your flame?" Milandy asked.

Eowyn continued to gaze from the window, shaking her head slowly. "No," she replied. "He never loved me as I did him."

Milandy raised an eyebrow. "Who?" She asked. "Eowyn, you never told me of…" cutting herself off, Milandy remembered suddenly of Eowyn talking of Aragorn's handsomeness, Theoden commenting on his niece's fondness for the future King. _Oh._ Milandy had thought it was just admiration. Although, really, Milandy should have known better, given how she had once been adamant her feelings for Legolas were mere admiration. "Oh, _Eowyn…_" She exhaled. "Please tell me that isn't why you went to battle…"

"I have always sought the glory of battle, but… perhaps hearing it from him was the final push. I am still unsure of what I was thinking, but I knew it was to be so." She looked back to Milandy. "We are women with strange fates, you and I. We are not conventional. Many men would find it… offputting. But the ones who do not?" She gave a smile, looking downwards for a moment. "And the ones who find beauty there? They are the rewards for our valor."

Milandy watched her in awe for a second before giving a singular laugh. "Who is he?" She asked, smiling broadly for the first time in what felt like forever. Eowyn shook her head, smiling herself, and for a moment it was as if they were girls.

"He is… it is nothing of seriousness. He has merely… expressed himself."

"_Sister,_" Milandy demanded, eliciting a laugh from the woman who sat beside her bed.

"Faramir," she confessed, her voice low. "I hardly know him, but indeed he has said such beautiful things to me…"

"Then _get_ to know him!" Milandy laughed. "That is the point of courtship, is it not? To learn of each other."

Eowyn gave a quiet laugh, Milandy noticing her cheeks turning pink. "Perhaps…" Eowyn sort of trailed off after this, her eyes looking as though her mind had wandered elsewhere, and Milandy couldn't help but smile. It was nice to see Eowyn so happy, less troubled than she usually seemed.

"Does he ride to Black Gate with the others?" She asked. Eowyn shook her head.

"No. He is unfit to, and wishes to remain in Gondor. His people need him now more than ever." Eowyn paused, glancing up to her sister-in-law, suddenly saddened. "It is a shame you will not be joining them, either. I believe you have greatly lifted my brother's spirits."

"I _had._ Maybe." Milandy re-adjusted in her bed, wincing at her wound, which had torn back open during the struggle before. "I did wrong, greatly. I am no maiden of virtue. I may have come around to do good but…. it was based on lies and deceit."

Eowyn watched her carefully, looking as though she was formulating something to say in her head before she spoke carefully. "If I may confide in you as a friend," she began, leaning inwards, "I do not think Eomer needs such a maiden. He bores very quickly, my brother." She sat back, nodding to herself. "And all may find redemption. It is just a matter of proving you're of loyal heart. I am sure Eomer will come to forgive you."

"And the Rohirrim? If they were to find out?"

"They do not know," Eowyn began, Milandy finding some relief in that, at least. "Eomer and Aragorn agreed it is not needed for them. You are a hero to them, but even if you fell from their graces, I am sure that you would soon be forgiven. It is tales of your battles that will be remembered." She laughed to herself. "Even the elves forgive with enough time, the Rohirrim would surely-"

"I did not take the elves to be forgiving people," Milandy suddenly spoke, not even realising she was cutting Eowyn off. Eowyn's expression faltered at this, taking Milandy back a little, making her wonder if Eowyn had thought she'd finally fallen in love with Eomer. If she had, her enthusiasm about the forgiveness of elves was an obvious giveaway to otherwise.

After a moment, Eowyn gave a nod. "I am sure he will forgive you. Loyalty is important to them, I am told."

"I wish I could just prove-"

There was a knock at the door, interrupting the two. Milandy looked to Eowyn quickly, and then to the door. "Come in," she called, the door opening soon after. Eomer slowly entered, a slightly hesitant smile on his face, nodding to his sister in acknowledgement.

"Would you be as kind as to give us a moment?" He asked. "It will not be long. You may return after." Eowyn glanced between the two, her mouth a little agape, almost looking like she was worried - which, in turn, made Milandy uncomfortable. If _Eowyn_ didn't know where this would go, it was definitely unpredictable. Milandy watched as Eowyn rose from her seat, nodding to her brother and leaving the chamber, the door closing behind her.

Eomer waited a moment in silence once they were alone, looking as though he was deep in thought. Milandy didn't dare to speak a word. "You scared me," he finally announced.

"I think I scared everyone," she sighed. "You all think me a spy. Understandable."

"No," Milandy almost flinched at the word, watching as he approached the bed, a little urgency in his movements, barely enough for her to notice, making her wonder if he was trying to hide it from her. Sitting on the bed at an angle to he could still face her, his legs apart, elbows on his knees as he slouched over as he often did, he took a deep breath. "I feared for _you._"

"For me?" She asked. He was silent for a moment, Milandy's heart racing, unsure of what would happen.

"I have seen Sauron's way of working. He takes the mind. He corrupts it, like a sickness," he explained. He looked forward, at nothing particular, almost as though he was watching a memory play out, the sight of any weakness from him making her instantly uncomfortable, unused to seeing him so. "My Uncle was poisoned by him, slowly, we watched him wither and falter under his influences, act as his pawn."

Milandy bent her legs as she listened carefully. "What did he do?" She asked.

"He banished me," he said plainly, "one of many things, but that is what I will remember strongest of that time."

"Banished?" She repeated. "You were like his _son._"

Eomer gave a nod. "True. But that is the corruption. It clouds the mind. Breaks the body."

There was a long and very uncomfortable silence that filled the room, and there was no denying why. "Will that happen to me?" She asked, her voice quiet, maybe even a little afraid. "Will I become like that? Sick and broken?"

"Gandalf does not believe so," he said, his voice full of what she could have mistaken for dread. "He says you will recover. But… there is even a chance." He let out a long exhale. "I do not know why this evil chases those I care for, and I do not care to. But these actions will be his downfall, as it only pushes me to see him in ruin." He looked back to her, about to add something else, when Milandy stopped him.

"I have not always been entirely honest with you," she said. "Your…" she gave a pause, struggling for the right word. "Your sense of duty towards me is…" Milandy frowned. She wasn't doing very well. This was like no position she'd ever found herself in, and there were feelings stirred within her she didn't know how to verbalise. Shame. Guilt. She was moved by him, and the way he was immediately concerned with her afflictions and not her lies. "You are being a very good husband." She laughed to herself quietly. "I do not know another way to say it to you."

To her surprise, he reached out and took her hand in his. "The Black Gate will be where we find our fates," he began. "If we are to succeed or fail, live or die. I would be lying if I was to say I wasn't angered at first, but you are my wife, now, no matter the circumstances." Milandy looked from their hands to him, her eyes glassing over a little, her breath shaking. "But these may be our last moments, and to spend them angry would be to spend them poorly. You may have came to us as one person, but you are not her anymore. I know it.I have seen it. I see it now." Eomer have her hand a gentle squeeze. "If there was to be one favor paid, it would be to have you with us in battle. I know you wish to fight for your fallen kin. It is something we share, and it is strong." He let her hand free and stood from the bed, approaching her slowly. "If I am to be angry at you, let it be after we claim victory. But until then," he said as he came face to face with her, leaning down and lifting her chin with his fingers once more. His touch intentionally gentle, he brought his lips to hers, the kiss they shared not one of love of pent up wanting. No, it was tender, mournful, full of sorrow. Milandy gave a tremble when they parted. It was a goodbye. "...Let me carry the thought of you as _I_ know you with me."

Milandy was unable to speak as he gave her a low, deep bow, a small smile on his face, one that was trying to assure her he would be back. But Milandy knew better than that. She knew for certain that there _was_ no assurance of that. There wasn't even assurance that the Ring could possibly be destroyed. Without saying a word, she watched wide-eyed as he left the room, the door remaining open until Eowyn re-entered, looking almost bewildered as she closed the door behind her and realised that Milandy had broken down into sobs. "_Milandy?_" She asked, rushing to her. Milandy wasn't sure if Eowyn's shock stemmed from worry or if it was because she'd never seen her cry before. "Did he say something?!"

"He was fine," she gasped between sobs, taking a pillow and holding it to her face, ashamed to let her see. "More than fine," she added, her words mumbled yet still audible. "Perfect. Wonderful."

"Then why do you cry?" She asked, reaching over and gently rubbing her back. "Because you are afraid for him?" Milandy nodded into her pillow. "Milandy, he will be fine. Sauron's forces are weakened. They shall hold no-"

"Not the enemy," she choked into the pillow. "I'm afraid that they are going into battle without me."

Eowyn raised an eyebrow. "Milandy? I'm sorry, I do not. understand…"

Lifting her face from the pillow, Milandy wiped her eyes. "They ride to battle without me to protect them. You have seen how they are," she said, her face genuine with worry as she continued to weep. "Eomer is strong but he moves as though he were lumber. Aragorn does not focus on his own protection. Gimli is slow enough that an old man could potentially best him and Legolas…" she paused, pursing her lips together. "He is so arrogant that something awful is _bound_ befall him eventually." She reached up to wipe her eyes with her sleeve again. "I have wronged them so greatly. How am I to prove my loyalty to them if I am not to lay down my life for them?"

Eomer searched her face for a moment, her mouth agape, before giving a polite laugh. "You are not making sense," she said, smiling and shaking her head. "War is stressful and you are injured, you just need-"

Milandy reached out now, grabbing Eowyn by the arm, seizing her gaze with hers. "I must do this," she said. "Have whoever is left to heal come and sear my wound at once. If we are quick, I can catch up to them."

"Milandy," she argued, "you-"

"_Please._" She insisted. "This is part of my fate. I know it as you knew yours, Sister."

Sister. They were indeed sisters, weren't they? Or at least Eowyn was the closest thing to it for Milandy. Someone to share secrets with, someone who had trusted her with her dreams, someone she could trust with _hers._ A person who would be there for her without wanting anything in return from her but her own time and companionship. A person who didn't care for her past of lies and deception, only for the person she had been. Milandy had never really had someone in her life like that before, someone she was able to trust so deeply. Eowyn's face changed from that of sorrow to one of fire, one of determination, the one Milandy was so used to. "I will fetch them now," she said, rising from her seat. "You helped me seek glory, and I will help you seek redemption."


	25. For Women

Eowyn had searched the houses of healing frantically for anyone who could help, anyone available, anyone she could _trust_ to help a Queen run away to battle. It was no easy task, but after a short time she returned to Milandy's chambers to see her stoking a fire in the fireplace already, a group of 5 women in tow.

"They are not many, but they are good women of Gondor who are trained," Eowyn explained as the ladies set up what they had brought with them. She led Milandy to her bed. "They warn me this will be greatly painful. Are you _sure_ of this?"

"I have no choice," Milandy replied as she sat on her bed, lifting her undershirt enough to take her binding and begin to unravel it from her waist. "It is all that will keep is secure enough for me to go to battle. What is a little pain to avenge my fallen kin in Dale?"

As Milandy tossed aside the bandage, a voice spoke up, a soft one, delicate, gentle and sweet. "So it's true," a woman began. "Milandy of Dale. Queen of Rohan. In Gondor."

Milandy looked up, confused by this, the familiarity of the voice striking her. She turned her head, and her jaw fell agape. "Arsilda?" She gasped when her eyes found those of her cousin, in complete disbelief - although she wasn't sure _why_ it was such a shock. Arsilda was a lady of Dol Amroth now, a woman of Gondor. It was only to be expected that she would see her eventually.

Arsilda looked for a moment as though she might weep at the sight of her younger cousin. The two had not seen each other for many summers now, since Arsilda had married, and surely Arsilda had thought Milandy dead for a long time - as the rest of her family had. Arsilda had changed little spare for the lines of age that now gathered at the corners of her eyes and mouth, and how her hair had lightened from the deep shade of coal that it had once been. She still stood with grace, emanating refinement, dressing softly in a way that made her pale skin almost glow, her voice like a song with every word. When her husband had first met her, he had remarked Arsilda's splendor was so great that he had mistaken her for an elf, and that had not changed.

Eventually, though, Arsilda broke into a smile. "You are alive," she remarked before laughing, "and sitting on a bed with a scar on your face and wound in your side, having us help you to break the rules. You may be Queen of the Mark, but you have not changed one bit." She set down a basket of cloth and bandages, making her way around the bed and taking Milandy into an embrace without another word. Milandy had not seen her since she was eight summers, and yet she felt as though she remembered everything perfectly about Arsilda, and a great comfort flooded her. "I have missed you, little one," she whispered.

"And I you," Milandy replied as Arsilda guided her to lay down on her back, her wound facing to the fire. "Tell me of your life now."

"I am happy," Arsilda began, her voice as soothing as Milandy remembered. Arsilda glanced between the fire and other women as she sat with Milandy, already having appointed herself nurse to her. "I have three children. Two sons and a daughter." She lifted Milandy's head, placing a pillow beneath it. "The eldest is Isgold, he is in the guard and fought in the siege. Then there is Elsidel. She is almost old enough to begin courting, and she is _so_ excited." Milandy watched Arsilda reach out to the basket of cloth, taking one of the long, thick pieces and rolling it up. "And Tommendil is our youngest. He is bright, so bright, much like Pa was." It was obvious that Arsilda was trying to keep Milandy distracted, but Milandy cared little. She was not afraid, and was happy to just hear of family. "Elsidel will be excited to know she is related so closely to a Queen," she laughed before nodding to another of the women, "I should imagine she will _beg_ to stay with you in the Summers!"

"I do not believe courtly life in Edoras is as spectacular as the courts of Gondor," Milandy laughed. "Elsidel may find herself disappointed."

"Ah," Arsilda began as the other women began to shuffle around her, one holding something in the fire from the corner of her eye as Eowyn crawled onto the bed beside her, sitting up and taking her hand, looking more afraid than Milandy was. "But Edoras is the land of the Horse Lords," Arsilda continued, "and one would be hard pressed to find a maiden of Gondor who does not daydream of being swept off their feet by a Captain of the Mark!" Arsilda watched one of the other women before giving a final nod and taking the cloth she had rolled up, gently holding it to Milandy's mouth. "Bite onto this," she instructed. "You must be careful not to bite yourself. Especially your tongue."

"Milandy," Eowyn gasped, her eyes wide at the sight of the red poker. "Are you _sure?_"

Milandy looked up to Eowyn, and then to Arsilda, polar opposites of each other, one almost wrought with fear for her, and another calm and confident. "Do it." She instructed, taking the cloth into her mouth between her teeth, making sure her teeth were free of her tongue or any of the flesh of her mouth.

The pain of the poker was indescribable, and it soon became clear why the five women were needed. It took three including Eowyn to hold her down and still while Arsilda steadied her shoulders and cooed, for although her mind and spirit was determined to overcome the pain and bear the agony, her body was not, involuntarily writing and struggling. The fifth from the houses of healing seared away, her technique meticulous, although no less painful. At first, Milandy had tried to not scream, wanting to retain what she thought was her dignity - but it was not long until her screams could be echoed through the halls, ones of agony, ones of torture. She worried for a time that the men had not left, that Eomer would hear and surely come running, but no one did. Her head dug so far back unto the bed that she was almost certain her neck would snap, and in the moments between each searing burn she felt herself stick with sweat. She screamed again and again, her throat hoarse and feeling as though it was raw and bleeding, but she was unable to stop. Her feet and legs kicked at seemingly nothing, with no aim but to try and exercise the pure agony, and after a period, the pain became so pure and so overwhelming that Milandy thought she would surely die.

But, just as she felt she could no longer scream, as she felt herself losing her vision, as she began to feel herself relenting and giving in to the pain, it was over. The hiss of the poker being dropped into water felt as a song to her ears, and the feeling of herbs and water being rubbed onto the new, sealed burn was almost unnoticeable in comparison. The relief was so that Milandy gave many audible sighs, gasping for breath as though she had gone days without it, the feeling of every muscle in her body recovering from the writing almost painful in its own way. She felt a hand stroke the hair away from her brow that had stuck to it with sweat, Eowyn taking her turn to nurse her now as her senses returned. "You have done so well," she said.

Two of the women lifted her up to sit, Milandy's body feeling incredibly weak and exhausted immediately after as Arsilda began to bind her - only this time it was not just where the wound was. Arsilda wrapped the bandage in a way that would not slip or roll during battle, that looped over her shoulders and under her breasts. "Think of this as an extra armor," she joked, "one from the women." She stitched the edge of the bandage down to another beneath it, sealing it together securely before lifting her arms and helping her into a new undershirt. "I hear there is a rider of every nation with them. Perhaps you may be the rider of Dale."

"No," Milandy said, her voice regaining strength. "I am no rider for Dale. But I will ride for you. And Eowyn. And the healers. And your Elsidel."

"The rider for _women_?" Eowyn asked, an eyebrow raised as she helped Milandy into her shirt of cloth. Milandy caught Eowyn give a smirk as she reached out for her leathers once Milandy had pulled on the shirt. "But Eomer has always said war is the province of _men," _she explained, her voice nearly bursting with sarcasm, something that Milandy found amusing to almost no end.

"Did he?" Milandy laughed. "Well, it is good that my husband has me to correct him, then, isn't it?"

* * *

_Short chapter, I know! Don't panic, the next one will be long and -no,- I haven't decided who Milandy will end up with yet, although I have a feeling. Let's just say it's far from over in matters of love. Far from it. Thanks for all the reviews and lovely comments and messages! You guys are amazing._


	26. Black Gate

"I am sorry you could not take Jodis," Eowyn began, watching as Milandy climbed into the saddle of the horse that Eowyn _had_ been able to secure for her. "She was under heavy guard, and to take her would be suspicious."

"It is fine," Milandy gave her a smile from atop the horse, giving it a friendly pat as she looked over the fields that stretched out from Minas Tirith's borders. "Any horse of the Rohirrim is a good horse, and I am _such_ a good rider that I could outride most on a pony." She smirked as Eowyn laughed, her cockiness hiding her anxiety that despite her skills on horseback, that she would not catch up to them.

Eowyn's smile faded a little, although not entirely. "I suppose this is it," she said, "you will go and meet your fate."

"Part of it," Milandy corrected. "My fate is bigger than a battle. I'm merely going to keep our men in check."

"You certainly do carry a astonishing confidence before you ride to battle," Eowyn observed, an eyebrow raised. "Are you not frightened that you will be too late? Or too overrun?"

"Oh, yes," Milandy gave a nod. "I'm _terrified_!" She announced, a smile on her face, overly cheerful. "But what do you suggest I do? Lay down and weep? No," she said, smiling to her sister in law. "If I do not laugh, I will cry, and if I cry, how will I redeem myself?"

The two shared a silence, the wind of the fields the only thing to be heard. "Ride well, my sister," Eowyn finally said, breaking the silence.

Giving a solemn nod and taking a deep breath, Milandy gripped the reins of the horse, keeping her eyes to her sister's. There was something in their gaze, sorrowful but full of excitement. The two shared that, she guessed, an excitement in the build to a fight. The love of a challenge. "I will do my best to bring your brother home to you," she said before she kicked her heels into the sides of the horse, clicking her tongue and galloping into the distance of the fields. She could already smell the smoke. She could catch up to them at the Black Gate.

* * *

They were completely surrounded by the enemy. Encircled and outnumbered. There would be no escape from this, and Legolas knew it was grim. He worried for a moment that the men would panic, that they would falter.

All it took was two Hobbits to charge after Aragorn to prove him wrong. It was not often he was glad to be incorrect, but this would be the exception.

* * *

Milandy could see the gate in the distance, lowered on her horse as it galloped as fast as she could make it, gripping to the reins tightly. She heard cries of war, roars of battle. She smelled the smoke and heard the clashing of steel. Her grip in the reins tightened as though it would make her charge towards them faster, cursing the extra weapons strapped to her for weighing them down. Her blades, a bow and a sword. A necessary evil for what she was about to charge into.

As she closed in, Milandy did not stop, not even to make a plan. Adrenaline through her veins again, desperate to see those she came to fight for, she drew the sword from its hilt, rising up in her saddle, her heart beating and her voice crying out as she charged into the outer ring of the enemy.

* * *

In all his years he had fought many battles, but for the first time, he could not take this one with his usual arrogance. It was relentless. Enemies came from all sides, all areas, wielding all weapons and tactics. Legolas had usually felt as though he'd had the upper hand in these battles, but this one had him feeling admittedly overwhelmed. There was to be no games, no tallies or counting. Not when so much hung in the balance.

Death surrounded him, men and enemy alike. The only thing louder than the clash of metal was the cries of those who were becoming wounded, and as he endlessly ducked and weaved and struck back, he lost sight of some of his friends. He could do nothing for them now, but it was quickly becoming a matter of every man to himself.

His focus was entirely on the enemy, his concentration like never before, too outnumbered and close to keep two steps ahead as he usually would. His only thoughts were to keep up, although his mind did wander between movements. If this were to be the end, he thought, what a glorious end. He had always been told that he had a strange fate, something rare amongst elves. Perhaps this would be it. It would not be so bad, he thought, although he would have preferred to survive and sail when the time came.

Within only seconds of that thought, Legolas thought he had indeed died, that death had been quick as his eyes set on the figure that slashed down the enemy between them as though they were weeds. She sat atop a horse, her eyes aflame with the passion of battle as she swept at them with her sword, pushing through from the outside as though nothing would stop her. Her eyes set on his, the light of the sun that came from the mountains behind her, illuminating her silhouette and obscuring her as she called his name, although he could not hear it through the sounds of battle. Was she one of the Valar? Perhaps Nessa, the ever young, or Nienna, who had come to take him from whatever death he had found and grant him mercy.

"Legolas!" She called once more, her voice clear now and sounding… _frustrated?_ "Your left!" She shouted. Instinctively, he ducked, and sure enough avoided the swing of a hammer, leaving up to slice open the chest of his attacker. He took a second glance at the figure on horseback as she drove her sword into an orc, giving a cry that sounded all too familiar.

"_Milandy?_" he asked himself, blocking another of his attackers. Milandy had come? But they had left her behind. _Deliberately._ She had been at their meeting, she knew that this was, by all means, a death-wish, and yet she rode here? She was a _traitor._ She did not care enough to lay down her life, surely? She cared for nothing but coin…

Milandy gritted her teeth together swinging at another orc that tried to pull her from her horse. Legolas wasn't paying attention and that was, in turn, distracting her. Was he daft? If she had to keep her wits focused on him, she would-

Milandy cried out as she felt a hand at her leg, larger than the rest, stronger as it pulled her from her horse without effort, dropping her to the ground with little issue. Scrambling, she quickly drove her sword upwards, piercing him through the very centre of his form and leaving the sword lodged. She quickly sprung upwards, using her arms to launch herself from the ground, and unsheathed her blades as soon as her arms were able. Without hesitation, she drove a blade into the neck of the nearest orc, hearing another she had _not_ struck fall nearby. Legolas had closed in on her.

"What are you doing?!" He shouted, kicking one away and firing an arrow into another, moving so the two were back to back.

Milandy spread her arms, stabbing two orcs on each side in the chest and dragging her blades upwards, splitting their sternums. "Supervising!"

"You should not be here!" Legolas fired another arrow into one that approached with an axe before reaching back to grab her by the arm, pulling her around to switch positions with him, neither of them stopping their movements.

"I fight for the same as you!" She retorted as she ducked down and sliced at an assailant's kneecaps, causing him to fall at his knees and tripping up two more behind him. "And for my kin," she stopped to give a grunt as she grabbed an orc's arm, twisting it behind him until it gave an audible _snap_, "and I fight for the women you have left behind - I have every right!" She gave a grunt, before speaking again. "Kneel on one knee!" She ordered.

"What?!"

"Do it!" She screamed, urgency in her voice, enough to make him do as she requested, arrows flying from his bow as he did. Without another word, she leapt onto his knee, using it as a step, but it shocked him how light she felt, for she used his shoulder to further launch herself with her arms, something he had not anticipated. She gave a loud cry and he stood once more, turning to catch a glimpse of her landing on the back of an orc that was larger than most, at least twice his own size, using her blades to grip into it's back. She pulled herself up onto it's shoulders, pulling the blades out once she felt secure, the beast roaring and trying to swat her off before she drove the blade in her free hand into its face. Which part, Legolas was not sure. Their backs were turned to him, but the beast collapsed, Milandy sinking down with it into the fray of man and orc, the last he saw of her being an arrow driving itself into her.

Milandy gave a wail of pain as she hit the ground with a thud, and although she knew she could not stop moving to lament the pain of the arrow that had burrowed itself into the side of her thigh, her movements were shaky for a moment as she re-gathered her blades and struggled to stand. She stumbled, using the slain orc's body to steady herself, the leg with the arrow considerably weakened. Gasping for breath to work through the shock and pain, she took the shaft into her hands and snapped it as close to her leg as possible, leaving the arrow in, deciding there was no use in putting herself through the complications of removal at the present time. She was actually surprised at how little putting weight on it hurt, but perhaps she was comparing it to the pain of the searing she had gone through before.

"Milandy!" Another voice roared through the crowd. Not that of Legolas. Eomer shoved back an opponent with his shield, turning once more to glance to her, his eyes wide with something Milandy couldn't decipher. It was either surprise or shock. "Below you!" He called, and to Milandy's surprise, the sword of a fallen Horse Lord lay before her. Without need for explanation or further instruction, she sheathed her blades and took up the sword, using it immediately to come to the aid of her husband, who seemed somewhat overrun.

Milandy growled as she twisted around, her back against his, sweeping her sword at those who tried to flank him. An orc gave a roar and brought his sword down upon her, but not before she could block it with her own blade. "Eomer!" She called urgently, realizing quickly that her strength was not even worth comparing to the orc's as he pushed her downwards, her legs buckling in resistance. Figures flew above her, the screams of the monsters she saw on the fields of Minas Tirith ringing through the air, something attacking them - although she did not know what, she was too focused on the battle at hand.

Without hesitation, he moved to her, swinging his shield around to knock the orc aside as another slashed at his back, which he had left entirely exposed to the enemy. Milandy gave a gasp, spinning, her sword now free to slay his attacker as he merely gave a grunt and continued to strike down their attackers, undeterred. A mighty roar coursed through the battlefield, the ground rumbling in steps, and not too far from them, Milandy spotted a beast four times the size of any orc. A fear chilled her as she stabbed an attacker in the belly, its innards spilling forth as she removed her blade and reached back to take her bow. She moved too slowly, though, and felt something strike her face, throwing her to the ground, her vision misted. Eomer roared her name, and Milandy could see his boots step back to be close to her. He stood over her to try and protect her as she pulled herself up, hoping to her deepest of hopes that her vision would return properly soon.

As it began to clear, she saw Legolas in the distance, calling Aragorn's name, his eyes wide with fear, held back by the enemy, the troll giving a roar. _No, _she thought. Aragorn could not have fallen, surely… maddened by even the concept, she gave her own battle cry, a scream from the deepest core of herself as she struck orc after orc with her blade, her eyes full of tears, the taste of blood in her mouth. It was as though it would never end, she thought, reaching around to stab at an orc that charged Eomer, using its falling form to launch herself and flip herself over another that attacked, slicing into its back on her way down. She landed in front of her husband, dropping to her knees to allow him to swing his sword over her at one that came from the front that she could not reach.

And then, from far off, where the giant eye of fire looked down at them, a screech came, one loud enough for all life on Arda to hear, one that took the attention of every man and orc alike, the ground rumbling as all on the battlefield stopped to gaze at the source. A wave of heat moved over them, as though the wind were born of a fire, her hair moving behind her as she gazed up at the eye of evil.

The rumble intensified, and more screeches came, from the eye and winged beasts alike as the tower began to crumble, the sight so spectacular that Milandy felt as though the breath had been struck from her chest. All seemed to stay still, the air hotter at the tower continued collapsing on itself, the dust and smoke of it filling the air, Eomer reaching his arm out as though to shield her from what may become of it. The sight was so overwhelming that Milandy hardly noticed the enemy was fleeing, men the only to remain on the field, their eyes transfixed. There was a clap of sound, a deep boom, and a massive wave of air washed over them, almost feeling like electricity, causing Eomer to grip at her, and her to grip him to brace herself.

"Frodo!" She heard cried, although she didn't know from where. And then another called it, and a third, and more followed, all joining in, victorious. She too joined them, smiling, her eyes full of tears, overwhelmed as she cried his name. "_Frodo!"_ She screamed, raising a blade into the air in a cheer. The ground no longer just rumbled, but quaked, and soon the ground where the gate stood began to sink and collapse as the tower had. She stepped back for a moment, terrified that they would fall into the chasm as their enemies were, Eomer grabbing her arm though he was preparing to flee as well - but it did not. The ground where their men stood was still and unweathered as the mountain gave a roar, and she witnessed it explode, lava erupting from it.

Despair took the men, their celebration short lived, unable to take her eyes from the mountain. The Hobbits who saved them were there… no, this wasn't fair. Her eyes widened, and she heard the small voice of Merry nearby give a wail of horror. Milandy was unable to speak. No one spoke. No one moved.

They stayed like this for moments, the whole army in silence, bated breath, waiting for something, _anything _relieve them of their anxiety.

"There is a way."

Gandalf had spoken, and slowly, scared to take their eyes from the mountain, most turned to face him. His eyes still on the fires ahead, he moved forward. "Ride home. Disband. Tend to your wounded," he ordered, the men parting as one of the creatures Milandy had seen fight the winged beasts, not unlike an eagle the size of a horse, began to lower to the ground. "There is a way," he repeated. All watched as he climbed onto the creature's back, the creature taking flight without an order from the Wizard, as if it already knew of his plans.

All they could do was wait.

* * *

Milandy gave a hiss, looking at the wound on Eomer's back. Sitting on the bed of their chambers, she discarded the bandage that had initially covered it. "The healers were not wrong," she commented as she reached to a basin of water, taking a wet cloth from it and wringing it out just enough to stop it from being soaked, "it is _indeed_ unpleasant."

She brought the cloth to his back, gently wiping over it, removing the dried blood that had since seeped after it had first been seen to, and he merely gave a grunt, shifting slightly. "It does not feel it."

"It _looks_ it," she laughed. "Your pride will be the end of you." Milandy shook her head and took a new bandage, pressing it to the wound as he lifted his arms for her, allowing her to loop the bandage around him.

"It was not that long I was binding _your_ wounds, if I remember correctly," he replied once she finished, pulling his undershirt back down. "And you thanked me by going into battle anyway."

She smiled, handing him the shirt that he would wear over the top, the fabric soft and rich, a gift to him - although one she didn't think entirely suited him. He wasn't made for the finery of Gondor, but now that was was over, the Hobbit hero recovering in the house of healing, they were in Minas Tirith as guests, awaiting Aragorn's coronation. "I would not have missed that chance if you had tied me down," she said, moving the basin with her foot, pushing it underneath the bed.

As he pulled the shirt over himself, rolling his shoulders beneath it, he gave an exhale. Turning to Milandy, who was reaching to discard the rest of the new bandage she had not used, Eomer took her wrist, stopping her movement and causing her gaze to snap to his. "You offered your life to this war. You risked your life beside me," he paused, giving a little smile as his grip loosened and his hand slipped down her wrist to her hand, "and you did not kill me, despite there being much chance." He pulled her hand towards him, leading her closer in. His free hand reached out to her and came to her cheek, bringing her face to his, more for the closeness than to kiss her - although he did lay a gentle kiss on her lips, their brows pressed against each other. "I cannot speak for others, but you are long redeemed in my eyes."

Milandy would have pulled away not long ago, before the Black Gate, before the lies she told were revealed to them. But now she lingered, finding comfort in his company, in knowing he trusted and forgave her, something that Legolas would not do. She may have had many wounds, but the most aching pain was the expression and contempt she remembered in his expressions the last time they had met with each other. His trust in her was broken, well broken, probably beyond repair, and while she still would lay her life down for him - which she already had - she decided she must come to peace. She would never have him, and he no longer wanted her.

She squeezed his hand, feeling as though she needed to, and he responded by kissing her once more, Milandy responding in kind this time, not breaking the kiss as she had before, moving closer to him and bringing her hand to his chest, resting it, feeling his heartbeat. Eomer's hand moved from her cheek and to the nape of her neck again, some of his fingers in her hair, their kisses continuing, the breaths deepening. Milandy felt that feeling within her chest, the tensing, the quickening, the heat. His hand came to her waist, pulling her body to his. Both her hands were at his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt, wanting him more than anything at that moment.

She was no maid, and she knew where this was going, her thoughts confirmed when his hands gripped her at her waist and pulled her to him, leading her to where he sat on the edge of the bed to be on his lap. Her legs kneeling and coming to either side of him, the fabric of her dress rose up past her knees, the skin of her mid-thighs exposed as she took his face in her hands and they continued their assault on eachother's lips. Eomer's hands moved from her waist to her back, pulling her form to his, holding her tightly, their kisses deepening. Milandy was no maid. She knew where this was leading, and she had the impression he was the same. It was as though she was on fire, as though she had never wanted for anything more badly.

And then she froze. That was a lie. She had. And still did. All of a sudden, it all felt wrong.

She gave a soft gasp, pulling away from his kiss, moving her hands back to his chest, her palms flat, pushing herself from him. She looked at him with worried eyes, fearful, almost, and studied his face.

"What is it?" He asked her, concerned, looking down to the bandage wrapped around her thigh where the orc's arrow had pierced her. "Your wound?"

She shook her head, gently moving off him, standing up, her dress falling back down to cover her legs. "It is still not right," she replied. "It… we are married. That should not be an act of the body's temptations," she explained, trying very, _very_ hard to be tactful. "It should be an act of… of…" Milandy trailed off, frowning and looking away, embarrassed to say it.

"Love?" He asked. Milandy frowned, giving a nod, and Eomer gave a long exhale. "You are right," he began, sitting forward again, elbows on his knees and slouching in his usual manner. "I would not have you rush such matters if you do not wish."

"I am sorry," she said, so quietly that it could have been mistaken for a whisper. "I know it is part of the agreement and…" She paused. "I do not wish to deny you of your…" she gave a tiny noise of displeasure, "_right._"

He gave her a knowing smile, shaking his head. "It is not as though I have not had the experience," he confessed, smirking just a little. "I am willing to wait. The benefits of being on good terms with my wife far outweigh those of bedding her unwisely," he said, giving her a look. "Especially when she is as you are."

"Headstrong?" She asked.

"Terrifying." Eomer laughed as Milandy crossed her arms, an eyebrow raised.

"And what of children?" She asked. "You are King of the Mark. There is a line to continue."

He nodded, acknowledging the concern. "Indeed, that will be an issue. If I did not know you, I would resolve to make you fall in love with me," he watched her reaction to this carefully, Milandy wary of giving him such a thing. "But I _do_ know you, and I would be a fool to think myself capable of that feat if you did not will it." Eomer shrugged. "It is a bridge we will cross when the time comes."

A knock on the door interrupted them, Eomer waiting for Milandy to give him a nod of approval before turning his head to call to the door. "Yes?" He asked.

"Your grace," a woman's voice began as the door opened, but not fully, the voice shy and shaking. "K-King Aragorn has asked me to inform you t-that… F-Frodo has awaken."

He gave pause. "Thank you. You may take your leave."

The door closed with a click and Eomer looked back to Milandy, who was unsure what this meant. He gave her a frank nod and smile, standing as he exhaled through his nose. "I suppose we should visit the halfling hero."

* * *

_Don't freak out, Team Legolas! Trust me. Juuust trust me. And Team Eomer, don't freak out either. It's far from over. Believe. Believe in me. Believe in love. Believe in the heart of the cards. I got this. There's so much to do before we figure out who Milandy will stay with. Like a Coronation. And oh... a trip to Dale... and Mirkwood..._


	27. Letters

Milandy was very much enjoying her time alone in the gardens of Minas Tirith with her book. No ladies of the court trying to dote on her, no men unsure of how to speak to her as she was a Queen without the sense of a lady. No. Just her and her book. And the sun. And the breeze.

"Mikil Damar," a voice spoke, breaking her mind from the book in her hands. Milandy wouldn't have been annoyed if not for the language. Speakers of Dalish were rare, and she felt a brief excitement that it was perhaps one of her kin. But no. It was Legolas, approaching her with something in his hand - a letter. She tried to not purse her lips in annoyance, suddenly irked by the fact he had addressed her using a Dalish title given that they were not close friends at the moment. "I bring a message for you," he spoke frankly, almost like there had never been anything of note between them, offering the envelope to her.

Glancing between him and the letter, Milandy took it from him, noticing the seal on the front instantly. "It is from Dale," she remarked, closing her book and carefully breaking it open. She looked up to him, watching for a moment as he stood with his hands behind her back. He wasn't going to leave, was he? No matter. Milandy was too concerned about the nature of the message, excitedly unfolding it.

* * *

_"_

_Mikil Damar Milandy Éadig, Queen of Rohan and the Mark, Lady of the House of Eorl, Wife of King Eomer of Rohan and the Mark; formerly Lady of Dale, Granddaughter of King Bard the First of Dale,_

_Dyro se der to you on your recent wedding, and dyro ao eilifu to your people's victory in battle. Your kin and the Kingdom celebrate your glory, even during such hard times. On word of your marriage, there was two days celebrations in the Lonely Mountain refugee camps. Your mother wept in joy for three days when she learned that you were alive and well after so long. Knowing her only daughter is Queen of Rohan has also brought her much joy in this time of great loss and despair. _

_We have lost many in this war. My father, your aunt Sigrid, three of our cousins, two uncles and my niece have all been called back to the waters of life, as has King Dain Ironfoot the second of the Dwarves. I am pained to deliver this news to you in writing, but I am greatly needed here by my people, and I will be unable to attend the King's coronation. _

_I have heard many rumors in our lands that you have taken to battle yourself. Is this true? It is uncustomary, but there is great glory and pride for us that you have fought alongside the New King and the Rohirrim. Your mother does not disbelieve the _tales_, nor do my uncles, as all say your nature was evident in your youth. _

_The people cling to the tales that head North, though, and there is talk that they will petition me to build a monument to your apparent feats at Minas Tirith as part of the rebuilt city. I must ask you to tell me the tales yourself, in person, so as not to have such a monument inaccurate. I hereby extend invitation to yourself and King Eomer of Rohan to visit, as well as anyone else you have met in your _travels who wishes to join you_. I am unsure if the Rohirrim customs include royal tour on the marriage of Kings, but perhaps you may conduct it as a diplomatic gesture. It would do great for the morale of the people. Your mother would also be greatly blessed to see you again._

_I would also humbly request that you act to represent the Kingdom of Dale at King Elessar's coronation, as we have none to spare for such a journey. Please forward my apologies to the King Elessar, and let him know I will formally swear my own fealty at another time, once our lands are stable again._

_Your mother sends her deepest love, and hopes that you will be reunited soon._

_Ég haber at barnabörnin mín hafi sögur sem ég mun segja beim af van u barnabörn beirra,_

_King Bard the Second of Dale, Bearer of the Bow. "_

* * *

Milandy sat in silence for a moment, looking at the letter, not sure of what to say or how to feel. The vision she'd had from that orb was true, then. Her kin had fallen. She took a deep breath, nodding to herself, before looking up to see Legolas still stood there. "What?" She asked, deeply annoyed now.

"Well?" He asked in return. "What does it say? Have I brought you good news or bad?"

Her eyes thinned at him. "A mixture." She folded the letter up once more, sliding it within the pages of her book. "Many of my kin lost their lives in battle, yet my mother lives and is well."

"That is good news, at least."

"King Bard the Second has also formally invited myself and Eomer to visit Dale," she announced.

Legolas gave a gentle smile. "More good news, then."

"No," she sighed. "I'm not sure what that is. It feels… I don't know." She shifted in her seat. "He has extended the invitation to any who I wish to join me, though. Perhaps it would not be so bad if I were to bring a Hobbit to offset the awkwardness of it all."

"The forests of Mirkwood are along the journey to Dale," Legolas began, watching her carefully and judging her reaction. "They are my homelands. Perhaps if I were to join you, we may also visit the Woodland Realm." Milandy raised an eyebrow as he spoke. "I believe you would greatly enjoy it there. It is also the homeland of Tauriel, and the forests surrounding it are where she and the Dwarf of your stories met."

While she'd intended to make a comment about him suddenly wanting to join a 'traitor' in battle, or warning him against being 'naive to place trust in her again,' she stopped herself, deciding it petty. Had Milandy not been wracked with guilt only days earlier? Had Legolas not been entirely right to feel as he had? He had been. She put her palms to the bench on which she sat, leaning her weight on them, her book on her lap and her eyes on the elf that stood before her. "Tell me about her," she said, her voice taking a more gentle manner with him, suddenly curious. "What was she like?"

Visibly relaxing in his posture, he smirked, moving to sit beside her. "You know the tale so well. I imagine you already know quite well."

"Yes, but you actually knew her," Milandy explained. "What did she look like?"

He thought on this, tilting his head as he looked over the view of the fields. "Green was her color. She was a true elf of the woodlands. Her eyes were green as the trees, she never wore anything but the same color, and the way she knew the nature of the plants in the forests would make you think she was one herself. Her hair was the same color as the leaves in the fall, an amber…" he paused, looking to her. "Actually, it was the same color as yours. Darker, perhaps. And longer, although shorter than yours before it was cut. And her voice was unlike any other. She spoke of starlight often, and her dreams of venturing beyond the lands of the realm, and it was gentle as rain yet as stirring as thunder all at once."

The smile on his face was one of great peace, of warmth and inspiration, and Milandy couldn't help but feel a little touched by this. "You speak as though you loved her. Did you?" She asked. He shrugged.

"I did not love her as such. There was a fondness that might have blossomed had her fate not tied her to the dwarve." He shook his head. "No. It was not love, though I did deeply admire her."

"And I would be welcome in your Kingdom?" She asked. "My Grandfather's story tells you were quite hostile."

"To dwarves," he added. "It was another time, long before now. You will be welcomed as my guests. I will see to it."

Suddenly uncomfortable, Milandy frowned. "I feel I must again apologise for… my original intentions," she said delicately. "You were right to be furious with me and distrust me, and I will understand if you never forgive me."

There was a silence, but this one short, like a lengthened pause. "I had not planned to forgive you at first. I was convinced you were no more than a thief, that you did not care for what we did, that all had been lies." He frowned. "But still you rode to us and fought with us, despite there being no benefit to you. You very nearly could have died and it very well could have been for naught."

"Someone had to avenge my kin," she said. "At first my intentions were entirely selfish. But I came to know you, and I came to know the others and these people, and then they became my people and… perhaps I changed." She pursed her lips together. "I rode to battle seeking redemption, to prove my loyalty, but when the tower collapsed… I knew why we were really there. I knew it was bigger than I or you or any of the men there."

"I have forgiven you," he said frankly, taking her by surprise a little. "But…"

"You do not feel the same as you did before?" She suggested. Legolas shook his head.

"Not that."

"I hurt you."

At this, he gave a slow nod. "There are things I have thought of, as well. Things beyond our control."

She exhaled, frustrated and defeated. "My marriage."

"In part," he said. "But even bigger, beyond the laws we have set for ourselves. I would not expect you to be ignorant to the lifespan of elves."

"Lifespan?" She laughed. "What lifespan? You do not age. You are immortal in that respect."

He gave a nod. "Indeed. Eventually, we hear the call, the urge to sail to the Lands of the Undying, where we remain for eternity with the Valar. I suppose you could call that our own version of death, although we do not die but rather leave Arda."

"And your concern would be my death?" She asked, cutting to the chase. "I would grow old and die and you would not?"

"Milandy… there is a fear I carry every time we speak. Elves do not love lightly as men do. Our hearts beat for one for as long as they beat."

"Love is a strong word," she warned, speaking quickly.

"Indeed." He paused, looking to her. "But it would be dishonest for us to avoid possibilities."

Milandy blinked, frowning. "You think you may fall in love with me?"

"One day. It is a possibility," he said, reaching out and tucking some of her hair behind her ear. Her hair was not long enough to hang over her shoulders now, so she supposed this would have to do. "So we must tread carefully. I do not sense our fates will part for some time. Especially if you would accompany me to Mirkwood."

"I would very much like that," she replied silvery, a smile of her own for him. "I am not sure of myself either, I will admit, but if you can grant me patience and time to search and find where my heart belongs, it would be a great kindness."

Taking her hand in his, he smiled, his eyes never leaving hers as he brought her hand to kiss the back of her fingers. "I have more time than you can ever imagine. You may have as much as you need."


	28. To Dance With a Halfling

The beauty of the dress Milandy wore was not lost on her. No, even _she_ with all her ignorance of 'lady like' crafts could see the beauty of it.

A gift for her from Arsilda and her daughter Elsidel on behalf of Dol Amroth for the crowning of the new king, the dress was a deep blue, one that reminded her of the waters of the lake by Dale, silver patterns embroidered around the neck and down the bodice, with stones of emerald set in onyx. A great gift from Dol Amroth, indeed, one that had been made with the Kingdom of Dale in mind, and one that was probably beyond even the wildest of monetary value to her. "You look more like a Dalish Queen than one of the Rohirrim," Arsilda laughed as she fastened the back.

"I _still_ think it should have been a _red_ dress," Elsidel said as walked around Milandy, spreading the train of the dress out to properly show it off. Elsidel was 14 summers, cheeky and perhaps a little more spoiled than Milandy would ever confess to thinking. But she was young, and so attached to her dreams and tales of romance and courtly men that Milandy couldn't help but take a fondness to her young cousin.

Milandy smiled, watching her as she moved. "And why is that?" She asked.

"Because you're Queen of the _Rohirrim_, Your Grace! And their colors are reds and browns and yellows."

"Ah, but I was born in Dale, where the colors are blues and blacks and silvers, and then I ran away to the eastern border, which is a land of all colors and shades," she watched at her young cousin gave an exhale of defeat. "Marriage doesn't define you, Elsidel. I know the tales are nice, but I would like if you remembered that."

The girl crossed her arms, frowning at Milandy as Arsilda gave a laugh to herself. "But you'll still bring me to Edoras when I am old enough, right?" She asked.

Unable to withhold it, Milandy gave an exhausted laugh, her head thrown back and her shoulders dropping. Was she like this at her age? "_Yes,_" she groaned, "you are welcome in our lands as soon as your parents permit it."

"Which will be a few years yet," Arsilda added, gently placing a circlet of matching stones to her dress on her head, one fashioned of fine, weathered silver and pewters. "You may be permitted to be _courted_ at 16, but your father will think differently of sending you to other lands."

"But _mother,_ she's _family!"_ She whined.

"It is not me you must convince, it is your father." Arsilda gave Milandy a glance through the mirror. "You are the only girl in a family of boys, as was I and as was your cousin. You will be fiercely protected, just as we were, and that is something you will have to contend with." Milandy decided to stay quiet at this, knowing she probably _wasn't_ the best example given she ran away to the East for that exact reason.

It was only when she caught a glimpse of Elsidel looking incredibly disheartened in the reflection before her that she spoke. "Your mother is right," she began, almost uncomfortable at how much Elsidel looked like their Aunt Sigrid, only with the deep hair of her mother. "_However,_ if I were to come across a young, valiant and conveniently handsome captain of the Mark and were to assign him the task of delivering _incredibly_ important messages to your mother and your household… I should imagine no harm in that." She shot Arsilda a smile, her cousin merely shaking her head as Elsidel's face lit up.

"Really?!" She beamed.

"I must admit," Milandy began, turning to face her now instead of talking to her through the reflection, "I am yet to see why every maiden in Gondor is so enamored with the idea of the men of Rohan."

Elsidel stared at Milandy as though she had just cursed her family, confused and a little outraged, dumbstruck at what she had just said. "... Have you _seen_ your husband?" She asked, eliciting a genuine laugh from Milandy that came out as more of a snort. "He is the most handsome man in Gondor at the moment!"

Milandy laughed, putting a hand on her hip. "Perhaps he has married the wrong woman!"

"No, really," Elsidel insisted, "he is _so_ handsome. Is it true he fought for you to join them in battle when others said no? And that he fell in love with you when he saw you strike down an Orc? And that he loved you and wanted to marry you even when he didn't know that you were a Lady of Dale? That is _so_ romantic!"

"And you think all Men of the Mark are like my husband?" She asked.

"Well, _no,_" Elsidel admitted. "Not _exactly_ like him. But they're all so handsome, and rugged, and brave, and passionate…"

"And they also smell like their horses when they come home from the weeks away they spend riding," Milandy joked.

"The smell of victory, you mean?" A voice laughed from the doorway, taking all three women by surprise. Eomer stood in the doorway, causing Elsidel to turn a bright red as she joined her mother in bowing to him, both of them turning silent. He stepped inside, nodding to the two of them, before gazing at Milandy, the polite demeanor on his face turning to a wide, beaming smile. "You look…" he didn't finish the sentence, instead just gesturing to her, looking her up and down over and over. He, too, was dressed in his finery - something Milandy couldn't exactly denied she liked. It was not the same finery as she had noticed on the men of Gondor, but instead fit for a man of Rohan. The colors earthy, the fabric practical.

"You look like a King," she said, trying her best to avoid the word 'handsome' given the conversation he had been eavesdropping on for _who_ knew how long. "It suits you well."

"And you a Queen. I come bearing news before the coronation." His grin returned. "Are you familiar with Faramir?" He asked.

"The Steward of Gondor?" She shook her head. "Well. I know of him. I have heard much about him," she laughed, thinking of Eowyn, "but I am yet to meet him."

"Well, we will soon be related. He proposed to Eowyn this morning and she has accepted."

Milandy gave a gasp, her mouth opening into a wide, shocked smile. "You jest!" She laughed. "They met such little time ago!"

"Indeed," he nodded, "but when Faramir asked my consent he told me it was the most sure he had been of anything in his life." He smiled, thinking on this. "He is a good man. I would trust my sister to no one less…" Eomer paused, tilting his head. "He also has quick reflexes, which shall come in handy when her temper inevitably arises."

Laughing, Milandy crossed her arms. "That temper is the temper that slayed the Witch-King."

"I know," he replied, honesty in his voice. "And you think I am afraid of _you_, imagine how poor Faramir will feel when they quarrel." The two laughed, although Milandy's was softer and she found herself shaking her head, but Eomer soon looked to the other women who stood by. "This must be the family you have spoken of," he commented, turning his attention to them and giving a slight bow to them. "The resemblance is strong."

Milandy fundamentally disagreed, not believing that she looked _anything_ like Arsilda, even after all these years, but did not argue. "Lady Arsilda of Dol Amroth and her daughter, Lady Elsidel." Once again, the women bowed to him, Arsilda doing so from a place of refinement and decorum and Elsidel acting out of pure nerves, which Milandy noticed. "Elsidel is 14 summers and wishes to stay with us in Edoras once she comes of age," she commented.

"Do you?" He asked her, smiling at the girl and ignoring the deep red she had turned. "We would do well to have you. There is a great shortage of pretty Ladies with dark hair in Rohan." He glanced at Milandy as he said this and _this_ time she couldn't resist rolling her eyes at him, Elsidel looking as though she might faint any moment. He looked to Arsilda now, his smile less gregarious and more genuine. "I am to understand you nursed Milandy when her wound was being seared."

"Yes, Your Grace," she replied. "But she was an excellent patient, and she did so well in such pain."

He nodded. "You have my personal gratitude. I will see to it that yourself and the other healers see rewards for your service. It is comforting to know my wife has been able to reunite with some family already."

Arsilda gave him a smile of her own now. "I am humbled. ...I am to understand you will ride to Dale soon?" She asked.

"Indeed. Our presence has been requested, and it will be good for Milandy to see her mother again."

"Yes," Arsilda agreed. "My Aunt Tilda has missed her greatly. I imagine it should be of great importance to the Kingdom. A strong alliance, perhaps. When will you ride?"

"A week's time from now," he replied.

"I will come to the gates to bid you farewell, then," Arsilda said.

Eomer nodded to her, stepping back. "Come, Milandy," he said, offering his arm to her. "The Coronation will begin soon and we must make every other person there jealous."

She took his arm, not even hiding it as she rolled her eyes once more, nodding to Arsilda and Elsidel. "I shall see you afterwards. And I do, again, send my thanks for this dress. It is beyond kind."

"You are not just a Queen, today, but my kin and an ambassador for my kinsmen," Arsilda noted, bowing once more. "Think nothing of it."

* * *

She had no words to explain the feelings that followed the coronation. The pride. The relief. The comfort. Knowing it was over, that the war was over, and for the next few days they could laugh and smile and celebrate.

The celebrations in the great halls of Minas Tirith were beyond any splendor Milandy had seen in the West, even when she was growing up within the walls of Dale. No, this was something else entirely, and it seemed almost as though every fife, lordship, land and kingdom was represented - many from lands she hadn't even _heard_ of.

Although she had expected the event to be most formal, Aragorn had apparently planned otherwise - or at least felt otherwise once Arwen had appeared at his coronation. Arwen. Milandy had heard so many references to her, but had never really understood who she was, or cared to ask. It was all too apparent though, she thought as she watched her and the new King. She had never seen anyone so happy in her life.

Milandy was struck by how beautiful Arwen was, and that was even by elven standards. She couldn't help but question how a woman so perfect could actually exist. Come to think of it, Milandy felt a little… sub par in those halls, which were filled with the most beautiful of maidens, elf and human alike, adorned in their finest, true ladies in every manner, their hair long and beautiful. For the first time _ever,_ Milandy felt self conscious about the state of her own. Maybe if she had not been forced to cut her own, it would be _she_ causing jealousy amongst the ladies. But no, she reached up to feel her hair, which just sat at her shoulders now, and frowned.

She shook her head. What did it matter? She was not a maiden, she was a _queen_. At least her husband found her fair, even with hair as short as hers. It was then that it struck Milandy that she had not seen Eomer for a while now. In fact, looking around the halls, she couldn't see him at all, although the hall was greatly crowded, and if he had ventured to the other side, she would never be able to see him through the crowds of noble guests.

She lifted her skirts ever so slightly so as to not tread on the hem, and began to wander through the halls, nodding to those who greeted her as she passed. However, it was not long until she heard her name called, someone stepping in front of her. "Hello!" a little voice chirped, waving up at her. She knew that little figure, not a child, but a Hobbit, the one named Pippin who had lit the beacons, the youngest of the Hobbits.

"Pippin," she greeted, smiling fondly, glad to see a familiar face, "enjoying the festivities?"

"Yes My Lady!" Merry beamed up at her, Milandy realising that this was the first time she had seen him with a clean face. "There's so much food, and it's all so good! And plenty of ale, too!"

"Really?" She asked. "I have yet to have either, but if there's anything I'll take your word on, it's the quality of the food."

"Oh, you really should, My Lady! But ah," he paused, looking a little lost in his words, He gave a quick frown before regaining his standing, straightening his posture once more, determination on his face. "I would like to ask you for… well…" he paused. "Would you…" Again, he paused. "I would like to ask if I may have the next dance?"

Surprised, Milandy raised her eyebrows. "Dance?" She asked in disbelief, pausing and trying her best to not offend. "Pippin… I… I am just surprised. I hardly have a reputation as a dancer."

"I know," he said. "Merry told me. He said I couldn't get you to dance with me, even if I offered you all the gold in the shire."

At first Milandy had planned to laugh this off, but on glancing at the other Hobbits she paused, her eyebrow perking up. There they stood, nearby at one of the many tables filled with food, watching eagerly, laughing and nudging at each other. "Is that so?" She asked, displeasure in her voice.

Pippin gave a nod, looking a little disheartened by her tone. "Yes, My Lady. We were having an argument over who the prettiest here was - you know, for such tall ladies, and Merry said you were quite fetching once you go to know you. And, well," he said, looking a little embarrassed as Milandy listened the the pieces come together, "it's not that I don't think you're pretty, My Lady, you're just so tall, and, well…" he winced, "you're a little scary, too. But, in a good way!" He added quickly.

"I am not offended," she laughed, unable to help herself. "Even men taller than I have the same opinions."

"Well," he continued, "Merry, I think, thought I was suggesting you were ugly, because he bet me an entire barrel of ale when we get home that I couldn't get you to dance with me."

"Did he, now?" She asked, glancing to the Hobbits once more, unsure if they could see the glare that took her face. She knew Merry better than she knew the other Hobbits, and she knew that he was greatly smart, but a great mind could sometimes become cruel, as could the company of friends. Without another word, she nodded to Pippin, offering him her hand, determined to somehow bring justice to Merry for picking on the youngest of their group. "Come, then," she said. "The next dance is to begin in a moment, but I must warn you I am no great dancer."

Pippin seemed to hesitate in a moment, taken back by shock, but after second or two he took her hand on proudly led her to the group of men and women assembled to take part in the next dance. Milandy glanced at the Hobbit's table, trying to not grin from satisfaction when she saw their faces drop and their laughter cease, and hoped within herself that this dance was not one that involved lifts.

As the two stood opposite to each other in the section of the hall reserved for dance, it seemed as though every eye within the halls were on them, including Aragorn and Arwen, who Milandy noticed had definitely stopped their discussion and had began to watch with great curiosity, smiles on their faces. The music began, and Milandy knew this dance all too well. A common one, one you could even find in the Inns of Bree. Pippin's face lit up - he knew this one, too. She wondered if perhaps the Bard had made the change for them, if it was meant to be.

The dance began, the men bowing to their ladies, followed by the ladies giving a curtsey. Almost positive that every person was now watching the Queen of Rohan dance with one of the Halflings, Milandy decided to make a point of it, curtseying lower than any of the other ladies, so low she almost touched the floor so as to give a proper curtsey to her partner. There was no way she was letting Merry get away with making the young Hobbit look like a fool. No. It would be _he_ who looked a fool now.

The ladies rose from their curtseys and they both approached, meeting eachother midway, looping arms - or, in the case of Pippin and Milandy, taking each other's hands - and dancing in circles, swapping directions with the lively music, swapping arms, stopping to clap and hop. As the dance progressed, those who watched began to clap, Milandy even catching sight of Arwen's hands coming together in time with the beat of the music, the King and his future Queen obviously enjoying what had become a spectacle. In the past, perhaps, it would have been for the wrong reasons, a Queen and Halfling dancing would have been nothing but mockery. But not now. No, for Pippin and his friends were heroes, heroes who had proven the bravery of Hobbits. Milandy was no more than dancing with a hero of war, the smiles on both their faces ones beyond compare, both of them laughing with every turn and hop.

Eventually, though, the dance came to an end, all giving great applause, Milandy and Pippin unable to withhold their almost childish giggling as they prepared to vacate towards the table of Hobbits. However, as the music for the next dance began, Milandy felt an arm loop around hers, and she felt furious, for no one had _asked_ her permission to do so.

"Would you be so kind?"

Where she had wanted to pull away and chide whoever had taken her arm, she stopped herself in time to turn and face the familiar voice's owner. Legolas gave her a knowing smile. He knew _exactly_ how she'd felt about that, and she would have found his arrogance infuriating in anyone else.

Relenting, he led her back into the fray of dancers, this dance slower, easier. Bowing to eachother, they began, their palms coming together between them as they performed the opening steps. "I very nearly slapped you, you know," Milandy said.

"I know," he smirked again as they switched directions. "But I wished to take my chances before someone else got to you."

She rolled her eyes, the dance calling for him to stand behind her and take his hands into hers from there, as though he were guiding her. "You look beautiful," he whispered into her ear. "Even the elven maidens are rightfully stewing that a human is as fair as to contend with them."

"I am married and my husband is within these halls," she warned him, ignoring the heat building up within her chest. "You would do best to not have me blush in front of all these people."

"And why is your husband not with you?" He asked, releasing one hand and twirling her with another, bringing her to face him as they looped arms once more. "I worry about a man who can see you so alive and bring himself to not be at your side. It is akin to denying yourself the stars at night."

Milandy glanced upwards to him. "You ask a good question," she began, trying her best to ignore his flirtations, even though she _desperately_ wanted to return them. The sight of her struggling to avoid that, though, was probably half his motivation in doing so. "I have not seen him for much time. I was hoping that you had seen him."

"No, I have not," he replied. "The last I saw of him was speaking to your cousin from Dol Amroth."

"Arsilda?" She asked.

"Yes. Discussing your lineage." He gave her a little smile. "I think he is trying to brush up on Dalish history before we ride for the Kingdom."

Milandy gave a little laugh at this. "Really?" She asked. "Why would he not merely ask me-" she paused, frowning, giving Legolas a guilty glance. "Oh."

Legolas gave a shrug, seemingly unphased. "You are his wife, and Eomer is of The Mark, I believe it is within his nature to impress you. Only you are not most maidens," he explained, once again moving behind her, repeating this step, "you are not impressed by tales of battle alone." He paused. "He is quite fond of you."

"As you said, he is my husband," Milandy replied, allowing him to twirl her a final time. "He is meant to be."

"And are do you return his sentiment?" He asked. This question was asked lightly, but she knew it meant more, that it weighed heavy on the both of them as the music came to an end, another applause from those around them who would never know what a serious conversation had passed. Milandy stared at him for a moment, her expression guarded, trying to read his - but instead, Legolas merely gave her the same, gentle smile of contentment that she so loved to look at and bowed to her, bidding her thanks before turning to wander back to his own party.

Milandy was unsure of two things, but there was only one she could solve at that very moment - and that was the location of her husband.


	29. Soft as a Breeze

She smiled and nodded, passing what seemed like countless people in the hall, looking for Eomer. Milandy was getting frustrated, now. If he had left already, leaving her to fend for herself, she was going to be furious with him. Absolutely furious. Milandy could handle nobility on her own, sure, but she would at least hope he would have the manners to -

She came to a stop, having found him by a table full of wine and ale, Arsilda not far from him, but not speaking to him, either. Eomer instead was speaking to another woman, one with deep brown hair, and pretty features, eyes large enough to be comparable to plates, and meticulously groomed eyebrows - why Milandy noticed these, she was not sure, but she knew she was already jealous of her.

A smile on her face, she approached the two, trying her best to not reveal the anger she felt. She may have not been in love with Eomer like a wife should be her husband, but she felt as though something was amiss. Like something had been breached, to have another woman take so much of his time and interest. Especially one so pretty, even in a gown of grey. Noticing her, Eomer gave a nod, reaching his arm out in a welcoming gesture. "Speaking of which, here she is," he announced.

Milandy watched as the woman gave her a low bow. "Your Grace," she began. "It is a pleasure."

"This is Princess Lothiriel of Dol Amroth," he announced, "she was just telling me of her love for archery, and I suggested that perhaps you and her may practice together before we ride for Dale."

"Yes," Lothiriel added, smiling at Milandy, her eyes so clear and spectacular that they almost seemed to sparkle. "I have been told so much of your ability, My Lady. I would greatly like to see it in person."

"You are too kind," Milandy replied from behind a fake smile. It was a blessing, she thought, that she were such a good actress, because Milandy was, without reason or logic, incredibly jealous of this Princess. She reached to Eomer, her hand on his arm, smiling to him fondly. "Husband," she crooned, "I have searched for you all evening. Where have you been?"

"Actually," he laughed, "I was speaking to your cousin, who introduced me to our new friend."

Lothiriel smiled, nodded. "Yes, it would be we are related by marriage, My Lady," she explained, glancing to Arsilda, who was consoling an apparently frustrated Elsidel. "Lady Arsilda is the wife of my brother."

"And yet, she has never told me of you!" Milandy laughed, the others joining her, not picking up on how bitter the undertone was to that statement. "What a shame, when it seems you and my husband have gotten along so well."

"You have much in common with the Princess," Eomer explained. "Apart from her love of the bow, Princess Lothiriel enjoys falconing."

Falconing? She shot a look of distaste at Eomer. When had she ever said _anything_ about falconing? "I have never partaken in falconing…" she corrected, her voice low, trying to not embarrass him.

"Really?" He asked. "I thought you had." He shrugged, smiling at the Princess, "perhaps you may give her an introduction. Yet another deadly art to add to her belt."

He wasn't even going to so much as apologise? Of course not. Milandy glanced between the two, her jaw tightening. He was _flirting_ with her. She, his _Queen_, who he had not one day ago been near desperate to lay with, was standing _right next to him,_ and yet he was putty in this Dol Amroth Princess' hands! Doing her very best to contain her anger, she lowered her voice, tilting her head towards her husband, speaking under her breath. "I seem to remember riding into battle beside you and slaying more than my share of orcs," she gritted through a polite smile. "And I happen to recall you finding it quite _'stirring.'_" She paused, giving a nod to Lothiriel. "It has been lovely to meet you, Princess, however it seems dancing with a halfing is enough to fill your dance card for the night, and I don't wish to keep anyone waiting." She shot a glance to Eomer, who had, apparently, only just picked up on her simmering displeasure.

* * *

"Are you alright?"

Milandy sat in the Garden by the halls, looking out onto the fields at night when she was greeted by the voice. Unfamiliar, yet friendly. It belonged to a woman, one of great beauty that even made Milandy hesitate before she stood, giving a bow to her. "Lady Arwen," she greeted, her head low to her, the vision if a woman merely laughing and gesturing for her to stop.

"Please," she laughed. "It is I who should express the formalities. I am not yet queen, but you are."

Nervously, Milandy shrugged. "Practice," she joked. Arwen gave another laugh and gestured for her to sit.

"Aragorn told me much about you after you danced with the young Hobbit, " she began. "It would seem you are a great tale. "

"Great is a strong word," Milandy offered, "but my journeys have been far from plain."

Arwen offered her a gentle smile. "I saw you as you took your leave and wondered if perhaps you needed to confide."

"Confide?" Milandy shook her head. "Lady Arwen, I am not-"

"I have seen many faces on you tonight," Arwen interrupted. "Joy when you danced with the Hobbit, hurt when you left the halls to find the gardens." Arwen gave pause, watching Milandy carefully, searching her face. "Love when you were with Legolas. I may be mortal now, but I am still as observant as I was. You are curious at best, I will admit."

Milandy gave a flinch, shaking her head. "Oh, I..." she shook her head. "No. He is merely charming. I am married..." Milandy watched as Arwen gave a knowing smile, stopping herself, knowing she wasn't buying it. She sighed, shaking her head. "I know, Elves and humans. You don't have to warn me."

"I would do no such thing, " Arwen laughed. "Aragorn and I are proof there are ways. He has told me the circumstances of your marriage. If I may ask of you, do you love Eomer?"

Milandy shifted uncomfortably. "That's... a very _big_ word..." she sighed. "I do not know. There is a fondness I share, I suppose. But I don't know what it is."

"I had suspected as much." Arwen gave a nod, smiling softly. "It is a complexity, then, if it may be undone."

"Undone?" she asked.

"Aragorn is king, now, of the United Lands," Arwen explained. "He may annul such a marriage."

Milandy's eyes widened. "Really?" she asked, her hand to her chest, in awe. Could she get out of this?... Did she want to?

"There are conditions," Arwen warned. "Written permission from the King of Dale would be one, as would the... natural progression of the marriage." It didn't take a scholar to work out she was referring to consummation of the marriage. "But it is possible. _If_ you desired that, however."

The two shared a look, Milandy's eyes softening just before she turning them downwards. "I do not know," she whispered. "I am so happy when I am with Legolas, but I worry that we would have a future, that I would pain him. I did not wish to marry Eomer but... he is... _human,_ and cares for me so, and I've grown deeply fond."

There was a silence before Arwen spoke, one filled with thought. "When will you ride for Dale?" she asked.

"A week's time."

"And Legolas us to join you?"

"Yes. We are to visit Mirkwood. Gimli shall also join us."

"Perhaps, if time permits, you may pay visit to Galadriel, " Arwen suggested. "She would take joy in welcoming two of the Fellowship, as well as those that aided them." Smiling, she continued. "So much as her presence often provides great clarity in times of trouble."

"Do you think?" She asked. "I do not think it would be fair to expect her advice on something so trivial."

Arwen reached out, touching her arm, so gently that it was like she was barely more than a breeze. "If it is of importance to your heart, then it is not trivial."

* * *

"You wish to annul the marriage?" Eomer gazed at her, the light of the fire flickering within their chambers and revealing an expression of hurt that cut her deeply. She had just delivered her news of Arwen's suggestion.

Shaking her head and running a hand through her hair, she stuttered for a moment. "No, no, I don't… well… it is… an option. That's all I suggest."

He eyes her for a moment, looking back down into the fire, his arm reached out to rest on the shelf above it. "It is comforting to know we have options, I suppose."

"There are conditions," she added, wincing as she did so. "We have to ask for the King of Dale's approval, you know, seeing as he would become my liege again… and…" her face suddenly flushed hot and she spoke fast, hoping to get it over with, "we cannot have consummated the marriage."

More silence followed, neither of them speaking, although Milandy did take this opportunity to remove her circlet. Assuming he was insulted, she chose to stay silent, beginning to prepare herself for bed. Eventually, however, when he did speak, she nearly jumped with fright at the suddenness of it. "Where do we stand?" He asked.

"What do you mean?" She raised an eyebrow as she removed the rings from her hands and placed them on the bedside table.

"With each other," he said plainly. "You have never made it clear how you feel for me. Where do we stand?"

Milandy paused, her stomach sinking, her heart almost leaping into her throat. Every second that passed as she tried to formulate her response felt like an hour to her. "I do not know," she finally said, her voice wavering.

"You must have an idea, given the way you reacted to the Princess tonight."

She shut her eyes, her fingers balling up into her palms. "I did not like her. She was too casual with you and…" she trailed away from herself for a moment as he looked up from the fire and caught her gaze. "I was jealous."

"You do not wish to share me, yet you do not wish to be my wife?" He asked.

"No," Milandy shook her head. "I just… I don't know." Once again, she brought her hand to her brow, sweeping her fingers upwards and brushing her hair out of her face once more by running her fingers through her hair. "I am fond of you, why would I not be?" She asked. "Perhaps if we were not married, but courting, it would be different and I would have no desire to leave or fear, but I feel like I'm cornering myself," she continued, speaking at an almost frantic pace now, her heart racing, so caught up in her train of thought as it escaped from her mouth that she didn't even notice him moving from the fire place and towards her. "I think about staying and I panic at the thought of it being the wrong choice, but I think of leaving and I feel hurt because you are so honest and brave, and honorable, and, well, you're quite handsome, too - _not_ that it's the only thing that matters to me," she added, "and I cannot bring myself to choose. I am just so unsure, and that being unsure _scares_ me."

Without a word in rebuttal, Eomer took her worried face in his hands and pulled her to him, their lips coming together, fitting perfectly against each other, the only sound in the room she could make out being the crackling of the fire. It was only one kiss, but it was indeed one of heart, her breath shaking afterwards, her hands quivering by her side as he spoke, his voice low, a whisper. "Then stay. Let me love you like I desire to and be my Queen."

Love? Milandy felt that panic within her again, but it was silenced with another kiss. And another. And then another, each one longer than the last, their breaths quickening and their hands soon wandering, hers to his chest, his to her waist. Soon they travelled up her back, his fingers resting where the ribbon that held it onto her sat, waiting for her to pull away and deny him. She stayed, however, instead delivering more kisses upon his lips, and once he was sure of her signals, he pulled at the ribbon, the tie slipping open, the back of her dress opening and sliding from her body under the weight of its own fabric. Instinctively, her arm rose up to her chest, covering her breasts until eventually they moved so her hands could grab at ties of his shirt, her fingers moving to open them. Between kisses, he pulled away, taking in the sight of her - naked if not for her under-skirt, her breasts in the flickering, warm light of the fire, her eyes focused on him as her fingers moved to untie his own garments. Valar help him right now for what he was about to do, for she was so perfect, even with the shortness of her hair and the scar on her nose and the marks and scarring on her body from war - because those meant it was her he that stood before him, and not a dream like he had thought at first. All he wanted was to lay her down and have every inch of her perfect form against his, but instead, he took her by the shoulders, stepping back until he was arm's length away from her and doing his best to look her in the eye without his gaze wandering any more.

"Milandy," he murmured, coming to his senses again, "not like this." It was then that her eyes widened a little and her arms flung back up to cross at her chest, covering up her breasts, her eyes looking downwards as if she were ashamed. "You spoke moments ago of not consummating the marriage," he explained, noticing her sudden nervousness where there had been none before. "We shouldn't close our only option so quickly." He gave her a gentle smile when she looked upwards at him and their eyes met again. "Let us seek counsel with Aragorn tomorrow and see what truth lays in this first, and we shall see where it goes. You are right, and this is a second chance that we cannot throw away."

She gave a nod, reaching down to gather her dress from the floor and stand back up with it against her chest, a soft smile on her face. "I may not know if I am in love with you," she said, "but I am blessed to have such a kind husband."

"If only I had been able to court you instead," he laughed, stepping away from her and rubbing at his jaw with his fingers as she wandered to the bed.

"Let us both be honest," Milandy turned her back to him, laying the dress over the seat by the dresser and reaching for an undershirt. Her bare back exposed to him, Eomer noticed for the first time something he had not known of before - scars, some small, some long, adorning her back. His curiosity began to burn at his as she reached her arms up and pulled the undershirt over her head, eventually covering it, continuing to speak. "You never would have looked at me _twice_ had your Uncle not paired us up."

"Those scars," he suddenly spoke, the tone of his voice changed, "on your back. What are they from?"

The smile on Milandy's face disappeared and she quickly turned, making her way to the bed with sudden movements and climbing in. "Nothing," she said, her voice frank. "They're nothing."

* * *

Milandy had a dream that night, one that seemed as though she was awake, one that she knew was a dream, yet experienced as though it were real. A teenage girl climbing walls, she was lithe and thin, and quick in her movements. She laughed as she perched herself on the wall's ledge, looking down at whoever chased her. "Come down from there!" A voice shouted. "Your mother may let you climb the walls but your governess will be _furious._"

And then the wall disappeared, and all was black around the girl, and a sword drove itself through her torso. There was a scream, and all was gone, and the blackness turned to ocean.

* * *

_Next chapter is like, all Legolas. Mmmmhmm. I promise. It's gonna be good. Promise. You'll love it._


	30. Extra Tent

Milandy was furious. Utterly furious - and it was more than apparent in her body language to anyone who knew her well enough.

She'd seen him that day with Lothiriel, on the archery range, his arms around her and helping her aim as if to improve her technique. What did _Eomer_ know about archery? Did he think her daft? She tried to stay calm as she approached him, her list of inventory requests for their trip to dale in hand. "Eomer," she spoke as she entered their chambers, glad that they were to see Aragorn soon, because she was _so_ mad that she would divorce him this instant if she could. "My inventory requests."

Milandy reached out, offering him the paper and watching as he took it from her, reading over it. "Is Dale really so cold that we will require so many furs?" He asked.

"Freezing. Especially at this time of year," her voice was blunt, sharp, eliciting a glance from him before he returned to his list.

"This is all…" he spoke as though to do so with approval, but paused. "Why do you ask for an extra tent than what we need?"

"I wish to have my own quarters."

He looked up at her from the paper. "Have I offended you?" He asked.

Milandy wanted to say 'yes,' she wanted to shout at him, but she held back. "It is _twice_ now that we've almost fallen to lust when it would be unwise to do so. I wish to remove the temptation."

Eomer crossed his arms, frowning. "So you really want an annulment, then?" He asked. "This is it, your mind is made up?" He shook his head. "I cannot keep up with you anymore. One minute you act as though you've never wanted for anyone else and the next it's as though you cannot stand to be in the same room as me."

"That's fresh." Milandy drew in a sharp breath when she realized she'd said this. It just… sort of spilled out. Oh no. "Coming from you."

"What do you mean?"

"You act as though we should take caution in ending this marriage, but if your Dol Amroth Princess asked you to, you would have it annulled in a second," she snapped, one of her hands moving to her hip.

"I would do no such thing and Princess Lothiriel would never ask me to do so," Eomer argued, suddenly incredibly defensive."

"And I suppose I am lucky for that, aren't I?" She asked, her voice mocking in nature. "That my husband has taken interest in such a virtuous girl and not one that would lower herself to becoming his mistress."

He shook his head, his expression almost one of confusion, but with more undertones of frustration. "You're hysterical."

"I'm being honest," she insisted, her voice rising. "You expect me to love you while you treat this unmarried maiden as though you were courting her? And you would expect me to not be offended? Do you think I'm slow?"

"At least she would allow me to court her," Eomer's voice began to rise with hers now as he rapidly became more and more defensive. "Whenever I have tried with you I have been met with coldness and disinterest."

"You have tried to _court _me?" She laughed, her voice weeping with sarcasm. "I'm sorry, I must have missed the courting part because it seemed to me a lot like you were trying to skip to the bedding. Your attempts at courting me must have had as much enthusiasm as a sponge."

"And what of you?" He snapped, gesturing at her. "Will you honestly stand here and accuse me of such things when you are no better? I took you for many things, but never a hypocrite."

She gave a long blink, freezing. "Excuse me?" She asked, taking the tone of a woman who was _incredibly_ offended.

"Legolas," was all he said at first, plainly, sharply, enough make her feel as though she'd been hit in the chest. "Do you think me a fool?" He asked. "I have heard the whispers from others, that he was seen taking your hand in the gardens, or that he nearly fought the servants to deliver you a message from Dale so he could see you, or that you blushed as you danced with him at the coronation. I have seen the glances, the exchanges. You may think them innocent, but I have noticed them."

A long silence followed, Milandy's hands moving to her dress now, squeezing some of the fabric between her fingers in tension. She had not expected this. Sure, a suspicion, maybe, but… "Then why are we having this argument?" Milandy asked, her voice quivering as she spoke quickly and almost in a panic. "Why are we here and not demanding an annulment? Why do we act as though there is a chance?" She paused. "Why did you say nothing?"

"Elves and men who fall in love are doomed from the start," he exhaled, shaking his head and turning away from her, moving to his trunk and beginning to sort through his clothes, "I had hoped one of you would come to realize that, and perhaps then we would come to be mutual, that in the end, I might win you." She could see him shake his head. "I would have thought him the kind to end this before it was too late." His voice rose again, back to it's usual volume, although his words were as blunt as hers were a moment before. "We must meet with Aragorn, soon," he said, closing their argument. "Do not worry. You will have your extra tent."

* * *

"It is indeed possible," Aragorn spoke, a large book of what was apparently laws sitting before him. Laws of men, laws of Gondor and united lands. "And you already have a strong case. You did not enter the marriage for honest reasons, which is already cause for an annulment."

"Can we not just have it annulled on those grounds, then?" Eomer asked.

The King shook his head, glancing back at the book before focusing himself on the King and Queen of the mark who sat on the other side of the grand table. "You are King and Queen, and Milandy is close enough in her line for the throne that it becomes more complex," he explained. "Her Liege must consent, otherwise it may give him cause to make claims, cause for war."

Milandy frowned. "He would never…"

"It may not even be him," Aragorn spoke gently, sensing she was a little offended. "Other Kingdoms may claim so on his behalf. It would not be the first time."

"So we must have King Bard's consent, then?" Milandy exhaled. "That should be an easy conversation to have. 'Hey, Cousin! I know the whole Kingdom has celebrated my marriage to the King of Rohan, but we're actually looking for an annulment. Sorry!' I'm sure that'll go down a treat."

"It will not be a comfortable conversation, that is for certain," he agreed, looking to Eomer momentarily. "There is no obligation for him to accept, either."

"Why not?" Eomer asked. "He would make an enemy of Rohan."

"You will _not_ war with my family," Milandy growled. Aragorn gave a slight exhale of air, a smile on his face as he shook his head.

"And _that_ is why he may not consent to the breaking of the marriage," he explained, gesturing to Milandy. Suddenly, he frowned, shifting a little. "It will make it… an easier request for him to grant, however, if the marriage has not been consummated." At this, Milandy went right red from the sheer awkwardness of the whole thing.

"That will be no problem," she heard Eomer say, and although she was sure he intended to insult her, she threw a hand up to her face to cover her eyes in embarrassment anyway.

"When will you ride for Dale?" Aragorn asked, bringing the conversation back on track. "Tomorrow?"

"Indeed," Eomer nodded. "We ride for Rivendell first, then Mirkwood before we arrive in Dale."

"Rivendell?" Aragorn asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Arwen suggested we pay visit to Galadriel as we will have Gimli and Legolas joining us," Milandy explained, ignoring the tension she felt coming from Eomer at the mention of their elf companion. "I would almost seem rude not to."

"I see." Aragorn gave a nod. "I am sure Arwen will have messages for the elves that remain, if you would be as kind to deliver them."

"I would be honored," Milandy smiled.

* * *

Legolas gave a nod as they stood in the gardens, his face wrought with concentration as he processed what Milandy had told him. "I see," he commented. "It is my fault. I am sorry. I was careless."

Milandy did a double take, pulling back from the the small wall they were leaning against to peer over the view of the fields, as they often did. "What are you… no. No, don't be silly." She shook her head. "It is mine. I shouldn't have hidden it and allowed it all to go this far."

"What happens next?" He asked her. Milandy didn't respond for a few moments, chewing on the inside of her lip instead, thinking.

"I don't know," she finally admitted. "We ride for Dale. See how it ends up."

"Does he still…" Legolas didn't need to finish speaking, his expression saying enough.

"Maybe." Milandy shrugged. "He says elves and men are doomed from the start." She paused, realizing she'd been hoping to avoid that. "Are they?"

"Mostly." Legolas nodded, watching her as she went back to leaning and looking over the wall. "There have been exceptions, but none quite like ours."

"Like Arwen and Aragorn?" She asked.

He gave a nod. "Yes. She chose a mortal life to remain with him, and the Valar granted it."

"Well," Milandy laughed. "That's out of the question, then."

Legolas looked to her once more, an eyebrow raised. "Out of the question?" He asked.

"If you ever did that for me, it would be a waste of time because I'd kill you before age did," she smirked at him, shaking her head. "If we came to that point," she lifted up her index finger, pointing at him, a smile on her face. "_If,_ and that's a _big_ if… we'd just have to find another way."

"Perhaps the Valar will provide," he smiled, his hand moving further on the ledge just enough that his fingers could touch her.

"I haven't exactly done anything to warrant asking them for favors," she laughed, shaking her head.

"Then _I_ will ask them." Without warning and without any caution, he swooped in, planting a quick kiss on her cheek. "We should prepare for tomorrow. It is a long ride to Rivendell."

* * *

While it had infuriated her to see Lotherial farewelling Eomer at the gates, but as Milandy felt the breeze in her air as they rode for Rivendell, she smiled, taking joy in the feeling of wearing trousers after so very long.

"Tell me of the East," a voice began, horse riding up beside her. Legolas gave her a smile, Gimli sharing his saddle, as per usual - although complaining less this time.

"You've never been?" She asked, knowing all too well the answer.

Gimli snorted, chuckling to himself at this. "Not him, Lass. Too dirty up there. Non' a the luxuries he's accustomed ta'."

"Luxuries?" Milandy's back straightened. "So you have not been East, either?" She shot the two a glance, Legolas' usual smug smile on his face at this. "No," she continued, "plenty of luxury in the East. Especially on the border."

"Is the border where the famed Sultans reside?" Legolas asked.

"No, no, most of them are actually _in_ the East," she corrected. "I was in the border lands. Lawless lands there. Actually, no. More like cities. No land without a building on it."

"And what were they like?" He asked her. "What do you remember best?"

She thought on this for a moment, her eyes cast down in contemplation. "The smell," she finally spoke. "Well, more like a fragrance. It was so rich in different smells. Spices. Incense. The food…" she paused and closed her eyes, thinking back. "Oh, the _food._ Nothing in the West like it."

"You sound like a Hobbit, lass," Gimli laughed.

"But it's true. The herbs don't grow here, no one knows how to make the bread the same… no. No, for that food, you _have_ to head East. Oh, the buildings!" She regaled. "Beautiful, covered in tiles of all colors. Some of the richer places even had jewels encrusted in the doorways."

"And what do they wear there?" Gimli asked. "Breeches the fashion for all the Easterling women?"

"Sort of," she shrugged, looking down at her own. They were the colors of the Rohirrim, oranges, reds and browns, made with leather in the inseam. Plain and practical. "Fancier, though. Soft, silk, all kinds of colors with _beautiful _beading…" she gave Gimli a side glance. "_Some_ of the women's pants were even see-through."

Gimli frowned at first, before giving a little jolt of surprise. "See-through?" He repeated.

She have a nod, smiling and looking back ahead. "Mmmhmm, made with thin fabric, you could see through it, right to the skin of their legs." She gave him another glance, a quick one, her lips formed into a little amused smile. "It's why the Easterlings invented such lavish under clothes."

When Milandy noticed Gimli struggling with the concept, a little overwhelmed by the idea of a city of women who's undergarments were on display, opening his mouth to speak a few times before stopping himself. It was Legolas who spoke next. "Was it hard going there?" He asked.

"Not at all," she replied. "If anything, it was too easy."

"Too easy?" Legolas raised an eyebrow. "All I have heard is of the hostility of those on the border. How did you arrive there, anyway?"

Legolas noticed a change in Milandy at this, the smile vanished from her face, her posture straightening back up, her eyes fixed forward. "Like anyone else," she said, her voice suddenly flat. Then, as quickly as her manner had changed, it returned, a smile on her face - although a softer one, a gentle one. "Tell me of the Lonely Mountain. I spent many years looking at it, but never ventured inside."

* * *

Milandy had never seen lands quite like it. She had been close, but to afraid to venture near. And now, she wished she had not been so afraid.

Beautiful buildings sat atop cliffs that overlooked rivers and waterfalls, the stones and bridges all covered with moss and vines. The sound was nothing but the rush of the water and the singing of birds, and Milandy had never taken in air so fresh in her life. As they made their way to the main bridge that led to the mass of buildings, she saw them - elves peering over ledges and through windows, here to get a glance at the returning heroes, perhaps even her and Eomer, although Milandy could not imagine that they were half as interesting to elves as the returning members of the Fellowship.

"It's beautiful," she found herself murmuring as they crossed the bridge, a welcoming party approaching from the other side, coming to meet them half-way. Before she had found herself on such an adventure, this amount of elves coming towards her would have sent a chill to her bone. But now? No. Now it was something else. Breathtaking.

One elf seemed to lead the party, tall, with dark hair and a face that seemed in a state of concern, even when he smiled. She had seen him before at the coronation, the man who had, in a way, delivered Arwen to Aragorn. Perhaps this was her father. She would have to ask Legolas later.

The two parties came to a stop, smiles all around, and suddenly Milandy felt as though a dozen eyes were on her. It was then that she realized that her and Eomer were front and centre as King and Queen of Rohan, as the leader of the elf party moved to greet them.

"King Eomer and Queen Milandy," he began, his voice as strong and solid in a way that she was sure she could somehow compare to a tree if asked to, "we welcome you _and,_" he said, peering behind them to the Gimli and Legolas, "the heroes of the Fellowship to Rivendell."

* * *

_Okay, guys, just a quick note,_

_You guys have been 99% amazing. Your comments and messages have been constructive and wonderful and have given me some great ideas. However - there's 1% that hasn't been wonderful. Now I don't know who it is (and even if I did I would go naming them in a fic that has over like 50 subscribers who'd get it in their emails) but I'm going to ask that comments/messages that straight up demand I write something happen (there's a polite 'it'd be cool it this happened' and then there's 'NO DO IT THIS WAY,' you know?) or provide non constructive criticism stop. These are done using the guest log in's, and they kind of put me off writing because it makes it not so fun anymore - so if it keeps going the way it has for the last 3 weeks or so I'm going to have to disable guest comments._

_Now, I don't want to disable guest comments! It's a pain in the ass to log in every single time, or create an account, I understand that! But I also want to have fun writing. At the end of the day, this is my fic, I'm the one writing it and I have to be happy with it because I can never make everyone happy with how it turns out. Constructive critique is great! It helps me improve (I've been doing non-fiction stuff for a living and sometimes the way I have to write for work bleeds into my 'fun time,' if that makes sense?) and I always appreciate it. However, non-constructive criticism is a waste of both our time. You're not going to get a result you want by being rude and you're not actually providing me with anything to work with._

_Obviously there's going to be people who are just jerks and I account for that, but this is more directed at some comments that seem well intended but just end up being rude. Another thing I feel I need to point out again is that this is my fic - so where I take it is my choice. Don't get me wrong, I love input and feedback and sometimes I'm not sure what to do and you guys help me make those choices (you know how stories sometimes have a life of their own and go their own way and you lose control of them a little? Yeah. That.) But please, don't get angry if things don't go the way you want them. This is the beauty of fanfiction: you can write your own, too! If you don't like the way this is panning out and want to write your own story, go for it, you're welcome to use Milandy (obviously, I'd like if you credited me, though, she's like my child, haha! Also, a link to your stuff would be great, I'd love to read it.) Honestly, I'm flattered you guys like her so much!_

_So yeah, I hate how negative that sounded and I'm sorry it took up so much space but I just had to say something. I'm really sorry about that. Once again, the majority of you guys are amazing. I'm in Australia so most of the comments come in while I'm asleep, so waking up to see them in my inbox is the most heartwarming way to start my day._

_Love you, guys. You are the wind beneath my wings, the sunshine in my life, the Jack to my Rose, the Oscar to my Leo- no, that was a bad example._


	31. A Story of Joy

"And how are you finding it?"

Milandy looked up from her book, watching as Legolas leaned in one of the archways of her room. There was no need for walls in Rivendell, the air always perfect, the breeze always arriving exactly when it should. "Beautiful," was the only word she could respond, noticing even her voice seemed different here. Lighter. More pleasant. She looking to the walls and supports of the room, all with beautiful carvings deep within the wood, depicting elves, trees, the Valar. "I have never seen anything quite like this." She reached out, running her fingers over one of the close-by carvings. "I wonder if elven magic is actually magic, or if it's merely art that achieves its purpose more than anything mortals have ever sought."

He eyed her for a moment, a little smile at the corner of his mouth after a beat. "It seems the air here has gone to your head."

"_Sorry,_" she sighed, rolling her eyes. "It's hard to be here and not spend hours and hours thinking about beauty."

"No. I like it." She glanced to him, and saw a beaming smile on his face, that rare one that only appeared when he most meant it. "Although, that's not to say I don't like the original better."

"What?" Milandy asked. "You mean the temperament marred by my shouting and arguing?"

"It is challenging," he explained, still smiling, approaching the lounge on which she sat, "but who am I to turn down a challenge?"

Milandy closed her book, laughing under her breath. "I will have you know," she said, watching as he sat beside her, "that I am no _prize_ to be won, or a stallion to be broken in."

"What are you then?" He asked.

Milandy shrugged, a playful, faux look of uncertainty on her face. "Oh, I don't know," she began, looking away from him. "A runaway, a noble lady, a master thief…" she looked back to him, her gaze fixed on his, her eyes filled with more of her playful fierceness. "A Queen."

He reached out to her, brushing a wisp of hair that had blown across her face in the breeze back to where it belonged. "Your hair has grown since that battle."

"Hair tends to do that."

"Does Eomer like it shorter?" He asked.

Milandy frowned before raising an eyebrow. "Why?" He shrugged, lifting some of it in his fingertips.

"I am curious," he explained. "I thought it was of great beauty the way it was."

"Did you?" She smiled at him, enjoying the direction of the conversation.

"It is why I asked for a strand. I thought of it often. But most elves adore maidens with long hair, I suppose I am no different."

"And you do not find me unattractive without it?" She asked.

Legolas shook his head. "No. I do not. It caught my eye, but the spirit of the woman it belonged to was much more beautiful." He noted her expression, one of doubt, and reached up to brush her cheek with the back of his fingers. "It will grow back," he assured her. "What of men? Where do you find beauty?"

"Us?" She asked, musing on this. "It depends on who you speak to. Some find beauty in eyes, others in hair," she said, giving him a nod. "Some in talent, lips, laughter, personality, heart… physical shape." She laughed to herself, shaking her head. "Men do not have any set admirations."

He nodded, listening carefully, obviously interested. "And you?" He asked.

Milandy shrugged. "Kindness. Passion. Bravery… but none of that…" she tossed her head from side to side, trying to find the words. "Chivalrous stuff. A little is nice, but I don't need to be protected."

"Sometimes you do."

Milandy blinked at this, staring at him, offended. "Excuse me?" She asked. "I believe I fought at Black Gate and did _just fine,_ thank you."

"I don't speak of battle," he explained, smiling, amused at her almost instantaneous reaction. "You can be quick to act, to throw yourself into things. Like falling in love with an elf."

"Legolas," she laughed. "We've been over this. That word doesn't-"

"I can't stop thinking about you," he said quickly, his eyes shut, looking for the first time to her as though he was… unsure what to do. As though he was… nervous? _Was_ he nervous? Milandy didn't think that was something elves could feel. She just assumed they were perfect. There was a silence that followed this, Milandy too surprised to speak, Legolas gathering his thoughts. "And I cannot withhold this from you any longer." Milandy opened her mouth to speak, although she wouldn't have known what to say, but he continued. "I know you are unsure, and I know you needed more time, but our time sharing this existence is limited and I cannot waste any more of it."

Milandy was overwhelmed, her throat feeling like something was stuck in it, standing up from the lounge suddenly, unsure of what else to do, but feeling as though she should move away from him. "This is… this is…"

"I am sorry," he said, standing as well, looking more tense than usual. Maybe embarrassed in his own way. "I have been…"

"No," she said. "No this is me. It's my fault. I… I…" she look at him once more, her eyes glistening as she held back tears. Tears of _what_ she wasn't sure. Anxiety, frustration… not sadness, though. "I am so unsure," she continued, her voice frantic as she began to pace, "and you are not and I'm stringing you along and-"

Milandy was cut off when Legolas stepped forward and took her face in his hands, pulling her to him, their lips coming together, the tension in Milandy's body melting away as she came to realise what was happening. Once their lips parted, Milandy much calmer, they shared the silence that followed, the only sounds in the room being that of the waterfalls and birds as their brows stayed touching. "I know," he whispered. "I know you don't know where your heart should go. I know it. But I know where _mine_ is, and I would pledge myself to you this very second if you would return it."

Milandy's face was wet with tears now, and she squeezed her eyes shut. "I am so confused," she whispered, her voice wavering with her tears. "There can be no happy endings. This would be doomed."

"I do not care," he said, running one of his hands back and brushing her hair out of her face. "To have a tragic ending, the rest of the story must be full of joy."

She gave a little smile, laughing with shaky breath as she glanced upwards at him. "And what would that story comprise of?" She asked. "To make it so worth such an ending?"

"A story of love," he began, his hands lowering, gliding down her arms and taking her hands in his. "Marriage. Children to tell it."

"Would we be able to?" She asked. "Have children, I mean?"

"I am unsure. But we could find out." He smiled when she laughed at this.

"This is all so fast," she said. "It doesn't feel real. I feel… guilty."

One of Legolas' hands rose for hers as he pulled away ever-so-slightly, lifting her chin and kissing her once more. "We do not have eternity. I don't wish to waste a second."

Reaching up with her free hand, Milandy caught his gaze, wiping her eyes. "I'm frightened," she whispered.

And with that, Legolas took her into his arms, her head resting against his chest, as she gently wept in fear and anxiety, unsure of the future, feeling as though they had broken laws beyond their own comprehension - and he held her as long as she needed, no less.

* * *

_Okay, this one was super short and for that I'm sorry, but I think the content kind of… made up for it. Heheh. Next chapter is much longer and progresses the story a helluva lot. Promise._

_Also, I had a 'complaint' (yes, Depill, you, you are actually harassing me over this) about my 'Icelandic' being bad. But uh. Well. I clearly said in the author's notes of that chapter that I'd taken Icelandic and butchered it with some Danish and other changes. It's not Icelandic. Just kind of wanted to re-iterate that before they get to Dale and everyone starts referencing it again. Don't get mad at me if you aren't going to read the big author's note at the top of the chapter properly. Get a grip and grow up. *Kanye West shades*_

_Thanks so much for your kind words, everyone. Seriously. You're all absolutely incredible and so supportive and I want to get to know you, so if you're keen on actually like, chatting outside of FF, shoot me a PM and I'll send you some social media deets and we can be friends or something. I mean. Like. If you want to. *sunglasses* Whatever. Guess we can be tumblr and twitter buddies or whatever._

_I actually cannot put into words how much you mean to me. It sounds cheesy and weird but it's just… restorative, I think, to know that we're all brought together by our longing to have more of a fictional universe than what we've been given. Our passion for a story bringing us all together. How great is that? You guys own. I'd forge potentially dangerous and morally ambiguous rings for you all any day. ;)_


	32. Pledge

"Nervous?" Gilmi asked as they waited on the beautiful platform that overlooked the waterfalls and what seemed to be the rest of Rivendell. Milandy shifted the weight on her feet a little. She was, but not as much as she could have been. She'd only heard stories of Galadriel, tales, nothing she had ever experienced. Perhaps her importance was lost on her, although she had not dared to ask their host, Elrond, in fear of seeming ignorant. To be honest, she was slightly afraid of Elrond. Not that he would harm or, or that he would even speak to her poorly, but that he would think less of her for whatever reason. He was not someone she wished to disappoint.

"Only a little," she whispered back.

Gimli smiled to himself, his hands behind his back. "Wait until she's in front of ya, lass."

Milandy looked down to the dwarve, smiling at the fondness on his face. "So she is as beautiful as I am told, then?"

"Beautiful doesn't even cover it."

As soon as Gimli finished speaking, Milandy felt something behind them. A breeze, a sound, a _feeling._ There was a presence, all of them turning to see the source, and she stood before them. Milandy didn't need to ask. She knew the elf that had appeared as though by magic was Galadriel. There was no doubt – and Gimli had not been wrong. Milandy had thought _Arwen_ was beautiful, but Galadriel was... she wasn't sure how to describe her. She stood before them, a gentle smile on her face, as though looking at her own children, her golden hair shining in the light – although Milandy was almost positive she was glowing of her own accord. Yet, looking at her, Milandy could tell she was not merely a fair maiden as other elves. No. She was authoritative, wise, all without speaking.

"Lady Galadriel," Elrond said, giving her a bow, Legolas joining him – although Gimli, Eomer and Milandy came to their knees in front of her. Such was the wonder of her, Milandy supposed, that Eomer would not question her sudden appearance before them even though he would normally be suspicious of such a thing. Milandy felt almost unworthy to be in front of her. She often wondered what people meant when they compared others to the Valar, but now she understood. Galadriel was not of this world.

"Please," she spoke as she gestured for them to rise, her voice almost going through Milandy as though she were paper, despite the gentle tone. Milandy glanced up to her, and her smile was as warm as heat by the fire. "Rise, champions." They rose, and no one spoke a word, Galadriel looking over each of them, smiling fondly, proudly, even. "You have returned, victorious, yet still unfinished in your own journeys," she began, slowly making her way up the row that they had formed, her steps almost as though she were gliding.

She stopped before Gimli, who was almost beaming with pride as Galadriel looked upon him, smiling. "Gimli, son of Gloin," she began, a laugh in her voice. "How may we thank you for such heroics in time of grief and danger?"

"Yer have already thanked me," he replied, glancing between her and his feet, suddenly bashful to Milandy's endless amusement, "by allowin' me to look upon the Lady Galadriel once more, for I was content with doing so just once. A second time is more than a gift."

Her smile became a beaming one, one of joy, and she gave a nod. "The beauty will only continue to find you, and will be in abundance when the time comes," she said, "for you are more than deserving of the beauty that you seek."

She came to Eomer now, her eyes fixed on his as he did a _very_ poor job of hiding his unease, her expression as though she were picking apart his. "Eomer," she spoke, finally. "King of Rohan and the Mark, beloved nephew of Theoden, cousin of Theodred, brother of Eowyn. Protector of your people, hero of your lands and pride of the House of Eorl." The soft smile returned. "Your honour and bravery is known well, that you have taken on such dangers without hesitation. "My people leave these lands, and we sail to those of The Undying. Let it be so that our horses become yours when we sail, to forever to belong to the Rohirrim. They and their offspring will be strong, fast, and steady. And they will belong to the Rohirrim, and only the Rohirrim."

Eomer bowed to her again, his eyes wide. Rohirric horses were born and bred to be the fastest and the strongest, but the elves had long ago mastered the intelligence of theirs, and their cunning and loyalty to their masters was revered by all, as was their beauty. "A great honour, Lady Galadriel, for myself and my people."

"You are a good King," she commented, "you care for your people more than yourself, and you are to bring them more honour than you know."

With that, Galadriel passed along the line to Milandy, her eyes visibly searching her. "Queen Milandy of Rohan," she addressed. "Lady of Dale, Granddaughter of Bard the Bowman who slay Smaug. A runaway, a rebel, a slave, and now hero." Her eyes squinted at Milandy, just ever so much in interest. "You have had many names, many callings. And now you are Queen." Galadriel paused, her eyes taking Milandy's, and she heard a voice – but Galadriel did not speak it, and her mouth did not move, but Milandy knew it was her's all the same. _"I know of what you seek, and it is filled with much pain and sorrow, but your time in these lands are short. Do not be sad, for the suffering will be but a blink of the eye when all becomes clear, and the fruits of this life will be of such sweetness for you until then."_ She smiled, and this time she spoke from her lips as though Milandy's eyes had not become wide and moistened in awe. "For you, the gift of tongues," she explained, gesturing to an elf man who stood beside her. Had he been with her this whole time? She had no noticed. Perhaps no one had. Who would want to look away from her?

The man stepped forward, presenting her with a book. Bound in white, the cover and spine embellished with what looked like mithril. It was thick, and heavy, and the edges of the pages were silver, and glimmered in the light. "A book of our language for the hero who has sought to learn it," Galadriel announced as the man passed her the book, Milandy taking it in her hands, careful with it, as though it was the most precious thing in the world. "The book that was used to teach the men of the first age, the men who now reside in Gondor." She caught her eyes once more as Milandy looked up to her from the book's cover. "The men who will keep it alive once our people are gone from this land."

"I..." Milandy paused, trying her best to stay composed. "I thank you, Lady Galadriel. I will learn it well, and pass it on."

"And you, Legolas of the Woodland Realm," she said as she moved on from Milandy to the last in the line, speaking as though she were meeting with a distant relative, or the child of a friend. However, she did not continue, but rather held his gaze once as she had Milandy's, before giving a nod. "It has been provided." As simple as that, without another word, she moved back to the center again, looking up and down the line slowly. "Your journey has been long and full of peril, and it is a story that I wish to hear from the source."

* * *

"Edhellan..."

Milandy sat with Legolas in her chambers, enjoying the breeze as she ran her finger over the sentences within the book Galadriel had given her, reading along with it.

"Edhell_en_," he corrected. "En." He reached out, pointing to the beginning of the sentence she was trying to annunciate. "And you are speaking to me, so you do not need to be so formal. Pedig, not pedil."

"Pedig edhellen," she repeated, watching as he nodded in approval.

"Good," he said. "And now the rest of it."

She gave a sigh. Although she appreciated his help, and _was_ admittedly, learning more than usual, she preferred to study on her own. "Mae govannen. Avosto. Pedig edhellen?" She sat back in her seat from the book. "Wouldn't it just be better for me to learn the formal first? So as not to offend?"

"I would like if you could speak to me as a friend," he replied, smiling before crossing his arms. "And you have yet to even touch the written."

"The written?" She laughed. "And I should learn _that,_ why?" Her eyebrow raised, she caught his gaze, a playful smirk on her face. "So I can write you love letters in your native tongue?"

He returned her smirk, although with his trademark arrogance. "Yes, and so you may read mine without the prying eyes of your Rohirrim courtiers." With that, he leaned forward, kissing her on the brow.

"Lady Galadriel said something to me..." she began as he pulled away. "Oh, well, she didn't _say_ it, but..." she looked to him and watched as he nodded in understanding. "You know. She said she knew of what I seek, and that my time here is short. What does she mean by that?" Milandy paused. "Does it mean I will die?"

He shook his head. "I do not think Lady Galadriel would have that foresight... but you are mortal," he explained, reaching out and brushing her hair back as he often did. "For elves, the lives of men are short, but rich, and full of purpose and glory." He paused and thought on this for a second, his eyebrows raising momentarily in contemplation. "It's been the cause of great jealousy among my people for as long as we have walked these lands, actually. What else did she say to you?"

"There would be pain and sorrow," Milandy recalled, "but it would be over soon once things became 'clear,' and that until then, the 'fruits of life would be sweet.'" His smile softened at this, his heart touched as he took her hand, in his, using his free hand to trace his fingers over the nicks and marks on the back of her fingers that still remained from their battles. "What did she say to you?" She asked.

"She said I had been heard," he replied, not looking up from her hands. "That the Valar wished to reward me, and that they have prepared the solution which I seek."

Milandy sat there, stunned, her lips apart, speechless for a moment. "What does that mean?" She asked. "Solution? Do they..."

"I am unsure of how." He looked up to her, his hand still in hers, their eyes meeting, Milandy almost looking afraid as he continued. "But it is clear that we have this time."

"Despite everything?" She asked with hope. "The marriage and the whole men and elves thing?"

"Despite all that..." he raised her hand to his chest, placing the palm against it so she could feel his heartbeat. "If you would permit it, I would pledge myself to you." Unable to verbalise a responses, Milandy merely nodded, her lips quivering, and Legolas stood, guiding her to stand with him, her palm still to his chest. "I pledge my heart to you, then, and as long as we walk these lands it will belong to you and only you, and even when we part. And even if you must remain married to another, I will linger always, and naught will change – but if we are provided with a way, I would marry you, too."

Milandy suddenly grabbed him at the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards her and kissing him as though she had longed years to do so, as though this would be the last time even though it would no doubt be just the first of many. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her against him before her arm snaked around it, his free hand moving to where her head and neck met, supporting her as she kissed him and her arms moved up to drape over his shoulders.

How long they stayed like this, Milandy was unsure, but it was a moment just for them, where nothing else seemed to exist except for each other. She had no worries, no thoughts of Eomer, no anxieties of Dale, or an annulment, or redeeming herself for her past mistakes. No. Just his touch, his warmth, how she could melt into him, how perfectly their lips came together, as though they were made for each other.

"I love you," she whispered after a time, their faces still close, her eyes still shut. "I have been afraid of that. Afraid of feeling it, afraid of saying it... I am not as brave as you would think me."

"It has been much to take in," he replied, hand hand smoothing down her hair at the back of her head, "and this is a matter that requires caution to a point." He paused. "How will you tell Eomer?" He asked.

Milandy exhaled, shutting her eyes once more. "I do not know, and I do not care to think of it. No. Let this moment be ours."

Legolas kissed her brow. "We will both face opposition," he warned.

"Both?" She asked, opening her eyes. "What opposition will you face?"

"My father," he replied. "I imagine he would have objections."

"I am a married woman. A Queen with a King. Who wouldn't?" She asked. "We ride to Mirkwood before Dale. Perhaps..." she tilted her head, speaking carefully. "Perhaps it would be wise to... not indulge him until we have found a way? Until we know the annulment can still happen." She smiled at him, fixing his collar, which she had displaced. "It wouldn't be _lying,_ just... not bringing it up."

Legolas thought on this for a moment, and Milandy worried that she may have offended him, but eventually he gave a slow nod of agreement. "You are right. He will surely find out, but perhaps... it may spare him the stress of scandal if we delay our truth."

* * *

Milandy was more fond of Rivendell than any other land she had been, spare for maybe Dale, and had quickly come to love taking walks throughout it. No one with her, no purpose to them, just to see it all and take it all in. How any elves could leave was beyond her, and she wondered if perhaps, if she could escape this marriage, they would permit her to live here.

As she walked through a path decorated by trees that had formed into arches, a voice spoke. "Lady Milandy," it began, causing her to turn and face it. Elrond approached, along, a smile on his face – although that did little to ease the tension that she felt around him, the uncertainty. Perhaps it was his wisdom she feared. "I have been told you are quite enamoured with Rivendell, is this true?"

"Yes," she began waiting for him to catch up with her so they could walk together. "I have never found a place I am so content to walk through so often." The two began to walk together, their pace slow, leisurely. "Is Mirkwood like this?

"Mirkwood is a different beauty," he replied, walking with his hands behind his back, his tone friendly enough. "One of nature. It causes you to marvel at the magic that can spring from the grounds of these lands."

"I grew up near the forests of the Woodland Realm," she explained, "I have wondered since I was a child what I would have found within them."

"Probably Legolas," Elrond said with a laugh, taking Milandy off guard. He was so intimidating. Was it just her, or did he make everyone feel like this? "You are 22, 23 Summers?" He asked.

"25," she replied. "I was 16 when I left Dale, for what that's worth."

Elrond gave a nod. "You will be glad to know, then, that it will mostly be the same as it was when you left Dale. Even Legolas... although, perhaps his hair may be longer. But only by an inch." He shot her a smile and Milandy gave a gentle laugh at his joke, although it did little to help her forget of the obvious differences between them. "It seems that the Prince of Mirkwood and yourself are to follow a journey not unlike that of my own daughter."

Milandy gave him a quick glance. "You have been told this?" She asked, suddenly paranoid by who may or may not have known. To her relief, Elrond shook his head.

"No," he replied, "but I can tell. Perhaps I am gifted to sense it given my experience in the matter... but I feel I must warn you that the path is not easy."

"As I have been told. But it is worth it, and that is certain."

"And you know," Elrond began, looking down to the path on which they walked in thought, "that you will one day grow old, and he will watch you die. Or that he will live a life struggling to ignore the call, the urge to sail to the West to the lands of The Undying."

Milandy gave a nod. "I am aware."

"What of your marriage, then?" He asked.

"We ride to Dale for many reasons, to seek consent for annulment is one of them," she explained. A fond smile took her expression, as though she were a teenager for just a moment, dreaming of her future, "and if that is successful, Legolas and I plan to marry."

Elrond nodded, an eyebrow raised, glancing to her yet again. "And what if the King of Dale denies your request?" He asked.

At this Milandy shook her head, waving her hand dismissively. "Nonsense," she laughed. "He is my kin. He and my mother will see how miserable Eomer and I are and he will annul it immediately. I am sure of it."

"_Is_ Eomer miserable?"

"I should imagine so," she said, speaking bluntly all of a sudden. "I am not a princess with dark hair or eyes the size of saucers, or milky white skin..."

"You sound jealous," he observed. Milandy exhaled, calming herself.

"Not jealous," she corrected. "But he is _my_ husband until we are annulled and..."

Elrond smirked. "So you are territorial instead?" He asked. "You are also someone's wife."

"And I do not doubt he feels the same," Milandy admitted. "I do not wish to linger on that, though. It shall be over soon enough."

"I hope, at least, despite the adversary you may face, that you at least provide each other comfort," he began, smiling to her once more. "I imagine ignoring the call shall be greatly difficult for him as time passes."

Milandy gave a soft smile, gazing up at the light that seeped between the trees above them. "We will cross that bridge when we come to it."

"When?" He repeated. "My Lady, has he not told you?"

Frowning, she looked to him, stopping in her tracks. "Told me of what?"

"Legolas has already heard the call."


	33. Flawed and Selfish

Pacing about her tent, Milandy wrought her brain _trying_ to understand. She had waited two days into their ride to Mirkwood to confront him, partly because she didn't want there to be an argument near their hosts, and partly because she didn't know _how_ to bring it up without Elrond coming across as a gossip. "Why would you not tell me?" She asked. "That's what I don't understand. _Why?_"

"I didn't think it was worth mentioning," he explained, visibly not even half as concerned about this as she was. "It's a call, not a _command._ I don't have to go this moment." Catching her gaze, he gave her a smile, reaching out to place his hand on her shoulder. "You worry yourself too much."

"Then why did Elrond say it would be difficult for you?" She asked, her tone softening a little.

"The call is, for some," he began, his hand moving down her arm to her hand, "hard to resist. It's an urge. An... an itch," Legolas smiled at himself for this, proud of his ability to put something she would probably never truly understand so she could at least _try_ to.

Pursing her lips, Milandy studied his expression for a while. "But it's an itch you'll want to scratch, correct?"

"Like any other itch. Milandy," he insisted, squeezing her hand, "you really worry too much over this."

"When did you hear it?" She asked, suddenly. "Er, _feel_ it?"

He gave a nod, giving a long exhale, coming to accept that Milandy would continue to ask questions until she was satisfied. Not that he'd complain – her combination of stubbornness and curiosity was one of the reasons he liked her so much. "After the Coronation. It came to me in a breeze."

"In a breeze?" She repeated, moving to one of the two seats that had been set up in her tent, gesturing for him to join her. "What does it say? ..._Does_ it say anything? Is that how it works?"

Legolas took the seat beside hers and shook his head. "No, it doesn't talk the way we would. It's..." he mused on it for a moment, before he frowned. "I would not know how to explain it to you. It doesn't speak words as you and I do. No. It gives you... a feeling, and all of a sudden you wish to sail, and you know that until you do, nowhere else will truly feel like home."

He watched a she nodded, her face deep in thought, trying to fully bend her mind around what he was describing. "You know, I have heard so much about these lands, of The Undying," she glanced to him, almost looking a little embarrassed. "What... are they? All I know is that elves go there and never return, and no others may join them."

"It is alright," he assured her, "it isn't something I'd imagine humans would have much concern for. They are the lands to the West, across the seas, far from Arda where the Valar themselves dwell. When our time here is done, we are allowed to sail West and return, where we spend eternity."

"And what of men?" She asked. "They cannot go?"

"Men were made to live lives and see fates. They were given blessings of purpose, part of which is mortality..." he paused, seeing the disheartened look on her face. "I suppose they do go for a time, in a way," he began, nodding to himself. "The Halls of Mandos are West, where all souls, man and elf, go after death. Although they are kept separate."

"What happens to the souls?"

"Elves remain there for a time and eventually are released, but men?" He gave an exhale, frowning a little and watching her carefully. "No one knows, not even Mandos himself, so we're told. There is a fate that awaits them far beyond what we know."

Milandy sat in silence for a moment, taking it all in, frowning, staring into the light of the fire from outside. "And when will you sail?" She asked.

He spoke quickly, now, knowing all too well already. "Not for many years. Perhaps when you meet your time -" he paused, suddenly uncomfortable. "I am sorry. Death is not... I will admit, it still remains a slightly foreign concept to me."

She shook her head. "No, it is fine. I will die one day," she agreed. "No two ways around that. We know what we've gotten ourselves into."

He reached out and gently took her hand from under her chin, where it rested in thought, his thumb running over the skin of the back of her hand. "Maybe the Valar will provide me with a mortal life as they did Arwen. Who knows?"

"No!" Milandy playfully slapped his hand with her free one before pointing at him. "Don't you _dare!_"

"What?" He laughed. "Do you not find that romantic and wonderful?"

"I would have you do no such thing. _Someone _has to live an eternal life and make sure I am never forgotten, and _besides,_" she teased. "I will die long before Aragorn and Gimli, and someone will need to make sure they don't get themselves into trouble." Her face was straight until she read the unconvinced expression from him and gave a laugh. "Okay, you need to _help_ Aragorn when he needs you. It's Gimli who's going to need supervision."

"That's more realistic," he said as she continued to laugh. He did not join her, however, his smile fading, looking down to their hands. "I have pledged myself to you," he began as her laughter faded. "I am unable to think of life beyond you."

A silence settled on them, Milandy frowning, pained by how... _upset_ he seemed by this thought. She leant towards him, kissing him gently on his cheek, whispering to him, "then do not. But when that time comes, remember that all I ask of you is to see out those you love and then sail West and tell our tales." Suddenly, a smile broke from her lips. "And also remember how _angry_ I shall be if you do otherwise!"

"And what would you do?" He teased.

"You've seen me when I am angry. It would take a fool to think the Halls of Mandos could contain me."

The two shared their laughter this time before he brought his lips to hers once more. Deep down, they both knew that this would be far from the last time they had this conversation, and that this time may have been the easiest for them.

* * *

Milandy had only been in Mirkwood for a few hours, but even after the exhaustion that came with the 4 days ride and the awe that stemmed from the beauty that surrounded her, the anxiety that built within about meeting King Thranduil was _not_ going to subside any time soon.

It had been at a point where Legolas, noticing her nerves, had taken her on a walk around Mirkwood – spending most of it assuring her it would be alright. "My father can be... he will see the good in you after a time, I am sure of it." Despite his efforts, though, Milandy could not calm herself, which she knew was from causes separate to Mirkwood. She had not spoken to Eomer since they had left Rivendell. Not a single word. They may not have been on amicable terms, but they were still, for now, _married,_ and they were King and Queen.

"What if we cannot be annulled?" She suddenly asked, completely out of nowhere, causing Legolas to completely pause and blink in surprise. "What if I have to stay married to him?"

"What?" He asked, taken by total surprise. "Where did that come from?"

"I haven't spoken to him in... four?" She asked herself, counting on her fingers. "_Four_ days, now. He cannot _stand_ me anymore. What if I have to remain his wife? I can't live like that."

Legolas took her shoulders in his hands firmly, giving a gentle squeeze to get her attention, looking her in the eye. "Milandy, it will be _fine._ Your kinsman will be approving this. All you need is to tell him how unhappy you are and he will allow it. You said so yourself." He smiled to her, his voice lowering in case there were any of his _own_ kin nearby. "And it will be annulled and we shall be married and spend the rest of our days going on adventures."

"I know, I just..."

"You are tired," he interrupted. "Your chambers will be ready soon and you can rest before you meet my father tonight."

It was then that they heard footsteps, Legolas moving away as though nothing were out of the usual, turning to address the oncoming chambermaids who seemed to be whispering to eachother eagerly once they realised the Prince of Mirkwood was before them. _Prince._ That was something Milandy would have to get used to in these halls. They stopped before the two, shyly bowing, the youngest of the two blushing furiously. Oh boy.

"Prince Legolas, Q-Queen Milandy," the more experienced looking and poised of the two said. "May I be as humbled as to ask a question?"

"Indeed," Legolas replied, giving a nod.

"Would... either of you know where King Eomer is presently?" She asked. "We received a letter for him two days ago." She held the letter out to them.

"I _assume_," Milandy began, reaching out to take the letter, looking over the envelope. The seal of Dol Amroth. It didn't take two guesses to figure out who _this_ was from. "That he is in his chambers, seeing as the horses are already tended to. I will take this to him."

"Of course, Your Grace," the chambermaid replied, giving another bow as the two stepped back. "Thank you." With that, they turned, going back the way they came, giggling and chattering to eachother.

"Seems odd they would be charged with delivering a letter while being so clueless to it's recipient's whereabouts," he said under his breath as he peered over her shoulder to get a look at the letter.

Milandy gave an exhale, turning it, looking over it. "I think you'll find they knew perfectly well where he is but rather wanted a chance to talk to you." She shot him a smile from the side of her eye. "It's from Lothiriel," she announced, lifting the envelope to her face and giving a gentle sniff.

"How would you know that?" He asked. "It could be from her father."

"Would her _father_ perfume a letter to the King of The Mark?" She laughed, offering it out and waving it beneath his face. Indeed, it smelled of perfume, there was no mistake as he scrunched up his face in distaste. Milandy made a mental note to avoid perfume in the future. With that, she exhaled. "You should go, I am sure there is much for you to do before tonight. Like warm you father to the idea of me before he meets me." She smiled and shot him a wink.

"Yes," he replied. "And I believe you have a letter to deliver to your husband." He stepped away, smiling. "Good luck."

* * *

Milandy gave a single knock on Eomer's door before opening it without waiting. She cared little at this stage for his permission, and part of her took a small delight in seeing his anger at her as he looked up from one of his trunks. "Your _Princess_ wrote you," she announced, throwing the letter on the desk nearest him, her hands moving to her hips, her eyebrows raised. "I do not know if you told her to write you or if it is unsolicited, but I believe we need to talk."

He stood upright from the trunk, sizing her up, probably to try and assess how mad she was. "Yes," he finally agreed. "Considering the blossoming relationship between you and your _Prince,_ I would agree."

"Perhaps my relationship with said Prince wouldn't have blossomed if he hadn't had to comfort me when I caught my husband courting a big eyed, dark-haired princess," she snapped.

Eomer snorted. "And you would look me in the eye and lie to me? And tell me it was not already progressing?" He stepped towards her. "Tell me, did it start before or _after_ I married you? To _save_ you? Perhaps _he _could have married you and saved me the trouble."

"I tried!" She snapped. "I tried to make this work, to fall in love with you!" Milandy had began to close in on Eomer now, her anger taking over, making her strive to intimidate him as she would anyone else who dare anger her so much. "I thought maybe I could come to love you, and we could love each other, like I _owed_ it to you. I almost _laid_ with you out of obligation!" Her words were vicious now, poisonous.

"And how glad I am you didn't," he retorted, "because I can think of few things more unpleasant than that."

Milandy gave a theatrical laugh. "Oh _please,_ you were nearly _begging_ me," she hissed. "You were as pathetic as the men in the East who would bow at my feet, begging me to so much as look them in the eye, let alone lay with them!"

Eomer sneered at her, trying his best to stand over her now, their chests almost touching, Milandy refusing to let him intimidate her. "So would that be your game? Is that what this has been? Seduce to become Queen? It all makes sense, only, you found something you wanted more."

"If you had put even half the effort into winning my heart as you have the Princess, I would have given myself to you completely and _you know that._"

"And tame you?" He growled. "You know that is a battle best not fought. You _know_ you fight everything in your entire world that would restrain you, and that's what makes you so desirable." He delivered the final word with a tone of disgust.

The two stood their ground, eyes locked, faces strong, a battle of wills enough to make anyone wonder if perhaps they would have made the best ruling force in the history of all kingdoms. Somewhere in their ragged breathes of anger, his hand came to her face once more and he lowered his face to hers, taking her lips with his gently. For a moment, he could have sworn she would receive it as they were meant to, but it was only a flicker of a moment before she put her hands to his chest and pushed him away, stepping back. "No," she murmured – not angry, no, but willed. "He has pledged himself to me."

Eomer gave a blink, mouth agape for a moment. "What?"

"He has pledged himself to me, and I..." she took a deep breath. "I have made my mind up."

There was a very, very long silence that followed, the crackling of the fire in his chambers being the only other sound. Sadness lingered, that much was obvious as Milandy realised that was a heavier declaration to make than she had expected. Eventually, though, he spoke. "Then the annulment shall go ahead as planned."

"Thank you," was all she had planned to say as she turned to move, but she paused as she reached out to open the door. "I am sorry I have been so cruel. And dishonest," she said quietly. "I have been selfish."

"As have I," he replied. "I... perhaps I was seeking... comfort from you. It was wrong of me."

"I would hope so," she said with a frown. "I would hope you would see me as more than _comfort._"

"No," he quickly spoke, "not in that way." He paused, his eyes averted to her, almost like he were embarrassed. "I lost my cousin and my uncle fighting for our freedom," he explained, "and although I know to be King must mean to be strong in grief..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "I am sorry. You should go, I imagine you are as weary as I am."

Although wanting to leave, Milandy closed her eyes and exhaled. "Eomer," she sighed, "there is no wrong in seeking that from me. Perhaps not as a wife," she admitted, "but as a shield mate. We fought together. There is a bond in that."

He nodded at this. "Perhaps you are right," his fingers brushed the desk where the letter sat, and Milandy noticed a light return to his eyes. Maybe, she thought, it was cruel to hold him back any further. Milandy knew she was often selfish, it was no secret, that much was plain to her. She had found her love, and yet she wished to deny him his when he needed his heart mended so badly?

"I should go," she said softly, "but I will come by and visit later. We may talk then. You should rest."

And without another word, Milandy opened the door and left, feeling like, for once, she had done the right thing.

* * *

_I am so excited to write the next chapter that it's probably unhealthy because ~*~*~Thranduil~*~*~  
Ohohoh, man, you guys thought he was uncool with _Tauriel__


	34. Love

There was not a single doubt in Milandy's mind that the figure making his way down the staircase from his throne was King Thranduil, and there was no question about it – this man was _definitely_ the father of Legolas.

If Milandy had thought Elrond was intimidating, she had been gravely wrong, for Elrond didn't hold a _candle_ to Thranduil in all his grace and glory. To be honest, he even made _Milandy,_ dressed in all her finery and as well presented as she could possibly bring herself to be, feel... drab, as though her dress was no more than a potato sack. As he arrived at the bottom of the staircase he looked over them all, all bowing before him, Milandy feeling his eyes on her, like a fire. Once they finished bowing she glanced up to him. Was he... judging her? Oh no. Oh no he _was_ judging her. Oh no. Maybe she should have worn her trousers. Maybe she would have seemed more imposing that way. Or would that have been improper? Milandy panicked to herself in complete silence.

"My son returns triumphant," he finally spoke after what felt like a full minute of silence, a small smile on his face as he looked to Legolas. "A hero of the fellowship, a saviour of Middle Earth... the pride of our realm." Despite the authoritative tone, Milandy could tell he was being sincere, and as she glanced to him, she witnessed Legolas smile. "And with him," he continued, "he brings guests. Humans and a..." he paused, giving an exhale. "...Dwarve."

"Aye, My Lord!" Gimli replied, taking Milandy by surprise. He was brave, she'd give him that. "Name's Gimli, son of Gloin."

"Yes," Thranduil replied, his eyes thinning, not quite impressed. "I have been informed." He gave a solemn nod. "It was not a blink of an eye ago that your father entered these halls... as a _prisoner._" Without another word, he stepped away from Gimli, who looked rather offended but was stopped from arguing by Legolas' hand on his shoulder. Thranduil moved not to Eomer and Milandy, eyeing them carefully, sizing them up. "And the King and Queen of Rohan," he began, taking another long moment to stare at them, Milandy afraid to _breathe._ "We are honoured to have you as guests," he finally said with a nod, his eyes closed as he spoke, his hands behind his back.

"And we are humbled to be welcomed in your Kingdom," Eomer replied. Thranduil slowly moved to Milandy now, his back effectively turned to Eomer.

"Do not mistaken my intentions," Thranduil replied. "I have no interest in the Horse Lords of the south. Your Queen, however, carries blood within her veins of one that even we hold in esteem. A great honour for a human." Milandy instinctively reached out and put her hand to Eomer's arm at this, praying he wouldn't argue as Thranduil focused his attention on her. "I imagine humans do not care much for women who battle as their men. It does not come as surprise to me, however, that the descendant of the slayer of the terrible dragon Smaug would defy convention. How many years have you walked on this earth, then?" He asked her.

Milandy nervously glanced to Legolas before looking back to his father, trying her best to not stutter. "25, just turned in October."

"So you would have known your grandfather, then?" He asked, waiting until she gave a nod. "And I assume that he has told you the tales?"

"Yes, My Lord," she replied. "Many. Of the terrible dragon, and the dwarves and the elvish..." she trailed off, not sure if that one was one worth mentioning, but he raised a brow and she realised she was too late. "The elvish bow woman and the dwarve who fell in love."

"Ah, Tauriel," he acknowledged, looking downwards for a moment. "What a great disappointment she was..." He trailed off at this, locking his gaze with hers, even leaning in a little bit, like he was trying to get a closer look to her. "You indeed resemble your grandfather, however. Although your eyes are not filled with the duty and courage that his were. No," he spoke. "They are filled with the fire of a dragon."

"My grandfather would often say the same of me," she replied.

"And he would know. But fire can be unpredictable, something to be wary of..." with that, Thranduil stood upright once more, looking to the rest of his guests. "Tonight do we not only celebrate our guests, but Mereth Nuin Giliath," he announced. "We shall meet again and eat together under the stars."

* * *

This 'feast under the starlight' was enough to make Milandy redefine her definition of beauty. While the rest of the Mirkwood palace had been dark, green and brown and amber, the clearing where they had been lead for the feast was bright emeralds and silvers all around, the long tables which they sat at made of glass, the cutlery sounding so gentle that it all sounded like twinkling of the stars above amongst the laughter and song.

The ladies of Mirkwood had, apparently, been excited for her arrival, and had begun to adorn her in their gifts as soon as she returned to her chambers. A dress, of course, was provided for her, sewn weeks ago in anticipation for the Queen's arrival. The fabric was not one she was familiar with at all, and she wondered if it was one only elves were in possession of. In the light of candles it was a green, but under the starlight and in the open it seemed a light blue, almost a silver. Cut to be well fitted, the bodice structured and well tailored, it was truly a dress cut for an elf, and she almost felt unworthy to wear it.

"Your hair is so short," one of the ladies commented as she attempted to braid what length there was. Milandy's hair had indeed grown back somewhat, reaching her shoulders now, but while it was not too short to braid, it was not comparable to what it once was, or to the hair of the elven maidens that surrounded her. The threaded some of the braid through beads, and adorned her ears with elven ear cuffs, and hung a simple circlet over her head, a single stone in the centre, clear and absorbent of almost all light it came into contact with.

And now she sat at the table, between Thranduil who sat at the head of the table and Legolas, who sat to the right side of her, Eomer across the table. "Legolas tells me you have made efforts to learn our language," he commented, taking a slow sip from his cup. "I would be interested to see how adept a teacher he is."

"_Ni ú-edhel!"_ She laughed, doing her best to switch to their tongue, joking that she is not an elf. _"But I attempt my best."_ Her elvish was broken, she was well aware, but she glanced to Legolas, who gave an approving nod.

"_Your accent is strong,"_ Thranduil replied, Milandy unsure if he was speaking slowly so she might understand or if he was doing so to be imposing. _"My son should take note to work on that. Your pronunciation is good, however. That I will grant you. How long have you studied?"_

Milandy sat still, thinking on this, parsing the words. She had understood chunks of it, but not full sentences. The last part was... semi clear. At least she thought so. _"Not long after the battle of Helm's Deep,"_ she replied._ "Difficult it is alone. But Legolas is friend, and help me well." _She glanced to Legolas once more, wincing a little, knowing her sentence was broken, but he merely shrugged.

Thranduil nodded, eyeing her carefully. "Interesting. I will be curious to see how quickly you learn under Legolas," he concluded in the common tongue, obviously over the novelty of an elvish-speaking human.

"_Dú viroist sa fallug og stjörnurnar fyr ofan oddir,"_ Legolas suddenly commented to her, his Dalish sounding as though he'd been studying it for years – which would have embarrassed Milandy had he not told her she looked as beautiful as the stars above them. She held in a grin, hoping she was not blushing, impressed that he would dare say such a thing in front of his father, even though it was a language only they shared.

"_Your father is right beside us!"_ she replied in her own native tongue, noticing as the King's eyebrow perked at the new sounds coming from the two. _"You grow reckless."_

"What is this?" Thranduil asked.

Eomer looked up from his food, glancing between the two. "Dalish. I believe they've been trading languages," he explained, his expression as though he'd just had a revelation.

"_Even your 'husband' covers for us now,"_ Legolas laughed, continuing in Dalish. _"I am assuming you have come to a peace, then?"_

"_In a way," _she replied. _"I cannot believe how well you are speaking! How much have you been studying?"_

He smirked at her now, _"When I am challenged, I do not take it lightly. Besides, it means I can do this,"_ he continued before taking his cup and holding it to her, as if to give cheers. _"I love you!"_ He proclaimed in her language before drinking back, giving a laugh.

"What was _that?_" Eomer laughed, apparently taken by the absurdity of it all. Milandy shot the elf a look, before giving a slight shrug.

"He toasts to our progress," she lied, turning to address Thranduil. "Legolas challenged me to learn elvish, so I challenged him to learn Dalish... although it seems he is more proficient than I."

"Someone ask competitive as Legolas?" Thranduil mused, smiling at his son, a slight chuckle under his breath. "_There's_ something that only seems to come around every hundred years or so."

With that, the conversation took a much simpler turn, Legolas telling his father stories of the Fellowship. And as she listened along with him, herself and Eomer and Gimli cutting in to add another detail every now and then, she watched Legolas intently, enthralled in how he regaled the stories.

And it was all she could do to not make it painfully obvious in her expression that she was completely in love with him.

* * *

_Okay. This one was very short. More Thranduil in the next chapter. And yelling. But yelling about what? Who knows? Spooky... well, okay, not spooky. Also, I think I've figured out how this story will end. It won't be for a while, but it will come, and I'm prepped. I think._

_Love you guys, as per usual. Every review makes my fingers smile – only not, like, literally, because that would be gross. But you know._


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